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be Librarp 
of the 
| Giniversity of Worth Carolina | 


Collection of Porth Carocliniana 
Gndowed by 


Sohn Sprunt ill 
of the Class of 1880 


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Digitized by the Internet Archive 
in 2021 with funding from 
University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill 


https://archive.org/details/southernwesternsOOunse 


: THE 
* SOUTHERN AND WESTERN 
Sonvqste vs 


- 


A CHOICE COLLECTION 
ee OF THE- 


fost Fashionable Songs, 


Ay 


MANY OF WHICH ARE ORIGINAL. 


on ® @ OH 
' SECOND EDITION, GREATLY ENLARGED. 
| 8 & Stine 
’ « 
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_" PHILADELPHIA: 


PUBLISHED BY 
JOHN GRIGG, No. 9, N. FOURTH STREET, 


_ And for sale by Booksellers and Country Merchants gene- 
rally in ibe Southern and Western States. 





~ Clark & Raser, Printers, 33 Carter's Alley. 
1827. 


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Eastern District of Pennsylvania, to ‘wite H. eee 
BE IT REMEMBERED, That on the twenty-fifth day of October, 
in the fifty-first year of the independence of the United States of Ame- . 

rica, A. D. 1826, John rigs of the said district, hath deposited in this 
office the title of a book, the right whereof he claims as proprietor, in 
the words following, to wit: aaa rier, ed Mae ; 
The Southern and Western Songster: being a choice Collection’ 
of the most fashionable Songs, many of which are original.” © 


in conformity to the act of the Congress of the United States, 
intituled, “‘ An act for the encouragement of learning, by securing 
the copies of maps, charts, and books, to the authors and proprietors 
of such copies, during the,times therein mentioned ;” and also to the’ 
act, entitied, ‘* An act supplementary to an act, entitled, *Anactfor 
the encouragement of learning, by securing the copies of maps, charts, 
and books, to the authors and proprietors fiaaebcapies uring the ~ 
times therein mentioned,’ and extending the benefits thereof to the ° 
arts of designing, engraving, and etching historical and other prints.” . 
Ns ; - De. CALDWELL, 
Clerk of the Eastern District of Pennsylvania. 


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ADVERTISEMENT. 
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ree ur rapid sale of the first edition of the Soutnern 
_ = anp Western Sonesrer, while it has been highly gra- 
iid to the publisher, has at the same time furnished 
ample evidence. of public approbation. The publisher 
_ takes. pleasure in acknowledging this patronage, and 
ie Basil endeavour to merit a continuance of it by increased 
a exertions. The work has been considerably enlarged, 
: and by. this means space has been gained to insert most 
| : - of the admired songs. of those distinguished vocalists, 
_ Mrs. Knight, Miss Kelly, the Miss Gillinghams, and 
ae others. ‘The latest of our national ‘and popular airs 
“have also found aplade. In aword, improvement has 
: been aimed at, and the publisher trusts it will bahia 
“that the ‘object has. been attained. 


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PREFACE. 





‘The man that hath not music in himself, 

Nor is not mov’d with the concord of sweet sounds, 

Is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils.” 
Shakspeare. 


So sung the sweet Bard of Avon. In all ages 
of the world, music has maintained universal 
dominion.—Civilized and savage acknowledge * 
its influence;—childhood and age bow to its 
sceptre. View the smiling infant in the arms | 
of its mother, charmed into forgetfulness by her 
soothing lullaby !—See the admiring gaze of the 
boy, as he listens to the manly and patriotic 
strains of his father!—Such sights as these dis- 
play the effects of music; but there are other 
scenes which perhaps more fully exhibit its irre- 
' sistible powers. Look at man, in “all his noon 


of fame,’’ 


* When first he sung to woman’s ear 
His soul felt flame :”-— 


and view him also, when age has “ mellowed his 
youthful affections,” and the “ shadows of even- 
ing are thickening around him,’”—even at this 
chilling i tk the, witcheries of her « ayren 


voice”’ 


©§till lingering, haunts the greenest spot 
On Memory’s waste.” ce ie 


Az ‘ 


” 


’ 


Vili PREFACE. 

Since then it must be allowed that “music 
hath charms,” it is presumed that good senti- 
ment will add to the power and effect of melody. 
Under this impression, the public are here pre- 
sented with a choice selection from the produc- 
tions of those bards whose “ feast of reason and 
flow of soul” have gained them ardent admirers 
,in both hemispheres. In making the selection, 
individual talent has not been solely relied on; 
_ assistance has been given by gentlemen of un- 
questionable taste and judgment; and the ser- 
vices of the fair have been put in requisition to 
improve the work. 

It gives us pleasure likewise to state, that 
many of our “native wood notes wild” may be 
found in this collection;s—some of which here 
make their first appearance. This it is hoped — 
_ will add to the value.of the present publication. 

As it might savour somewhat of vanity to say, 
that this is the very best selection ever offered 
to the public, we have determined to keep our 
honest thoughts of the matter to ourselves; and ~ 
to conclude, as we began, with Shakspeare, and 
* admit, that on this point, . . 
*‘There’s nothing so becomes a man, 
As modest stillness and humility. a 


¥ 


‘CONTENTS 


a 
As walking forth to view the plain - - Page % 
Adieu, a heart-warm, fond adieu - Weta ty?| 
Alone to the banks of the dark rolling Danube - 29 
Adieu, adieu, my only life = - - - 50 
Assist me, ye lads, who have hearts void of guile - 70 
All hail to the morning - - - 82 
As beautiful Kitty one morning was tripping - 85 
A rose tree in full bearing = - - - - 106 
A tailor I once was, as blithe as e’er ead be - 115 
As I stray’d o’er a common on Cork’s rugged border 121 
All in the Downs the fleet was moor’d - -- 123 
Away with melancholy - ° - - 130 
A beam of tranquillity smil’d in ‘he west - - 153 

Avenging and bright fell the swift sword of Erin - 154 | 
As down the burn they took theirway - - - 157 
A mason’s daughter fair and young of ea alt =~ hee 
Ah! what is the bosom’s commotion - - <« 193 
Adieu! adieu! my native shore - - - - 216 
And we're a’ noddin, nid, nid, noddin - - - 2382 
As down in the sunless retreats of the ocean - 238 
A chieftain to the Highlands bound ° ~ - 252 
_ As slow our ship her Seay track - ° - 258 
_ A boat dane’d on Clyde’s bonny stream - - 266 
As the sun climbs over the hills - - - = 27 
And ye shall walk in silk attire | - - 292 
A hermit who dwells in these solitudes ord me 295 
_ And canst thou think because we part - - - 301 
A little cock sparrow sat upinatree - - - 302 
' Backside of Albany, tan eke Champlain - - 34 
_ Bright Phoebus has mounted the chariot ofday - 36 
Believe me, if all those endearing young charms - 66 
Begone, dull care, I pray thee begone from me - 71 
- But are you sure the news is true? eS - 9 

AS 


x CONTENTS. 


Brave sons of the west, your deeds of renown - 
Behold in his soft expressive face - . - 
Bright chanticleer proclaims the dawn - - 
Blithe Sandy is a bonny boy - - - - 
By the side of “Hain at Sere i ar grows a eee 

willow - - 
Blow high, blow low, let tempests tear - 
Blue borineted Scotch, arise to glory ~- - 
Behind yon hills where Lugar flows - - 
Bid me discourse, [ willenchant thine ear = 


i) e 6 4&6 


Come haste to the Wee ye friends and ye neigh 
bours 
Come, each jovial follow loves to be mellow - 
Cease, rude Boreas, blustering railer = - - 
Come, strike the bold anthem, the war anes are 
howling - - - - - 
Come each gallant lad adil lai “ibe 
Come, come, bonnie lassie, cried aging awa 
Come let us prepare - 
Come, ye masons, hither bvitig ° - 
Come, tell me, blue- -eyed stranger - 
Come, take the harp, ’tis vain to muse - 
Come, rest in this bosom, my own stricken deer 
Columbia! Columbia! to glory arise - ~- 
Come, listen to my story - - : - 
Cease, oh! cease, to tempt my tender heart to love 
Contented I am, and contented [ll be - : ~ 
Come muster, my lads, your mechanical tools —s- 
Come o’er the sea - > ee see 
Come hither, thou beautiful rover - - - 
Come down to the lattice - - 
Come, who'll buy my roses, primroses, who'll ‘buy 


Despair in her wild eye, a daughter of sah 
Deserted by the waning moon - 

Days of absence, sad and dreary -  - 
Down in yon village I live so snug 

*‘ Dear John, prythee tell us,” cried Ruth 
Drink to me only with thine eyes 

Dear harp of my country, in darkness I found thee 


f 5 oS : LU] 
0 e € a a 


13k 
132 
141 
192 
194 
198 
202 


243 


CONTENTS. 


Bear Erin! how sweetly thy green bosom rises —- 
Dear Tom, this brown jug which now foams with 
_._mildale’ - - - - - - - 
Dear is my little native vale ~ 
Dear maid by every hope of bliss 
Did ever you go to a-wedding? = - 


Ere aroundthe hugeoak - - - -— = 


Friendship to every willing mind “ets Gt 
From thee, Eliza, t must go - 
From the white-blossom’d sloe my dear Chloe re- 
quested - - - - - - 
Four score and ten of us, poor old maids - 
Far, far from me, my lover flies - - — - 
Farewell to Lochaber, and farewell my Jean 
Faint and wearily the way-worn traveller —- 
Faintly as tolls the evening chime - . 
Friend of my soul this goblet sip - - 
Farewell—farewell to thee, Araby’s daughter 
For England, when, with fav’ring gale - 
Flow on thou shining river - - 
Follow, follow through the sea = - 
Farewell! but whenever you welcome the hour 
Fly to the desert, fly with me by hy 
Fare thee well, and if for ever - 2 : 
Far, far o’er hill and dell - > - - 
First I married for love - 
’ Forget me not, should mirth allow thee leisure 


Go where glory waitsthee - - - -  - 
Gaily sounds the castanet = - 

Go, my love! nor believe that your Claribel s ‘heart 
Gloomy winter’s now awa’ -— - ae 


_ How happy lives the ruralelown - - - - 

How sweet are the flow’rs at err th yon pOCr 
tain - e 

Hail Columbia! hap land! - A 

Hallow’d the birth-day of liberty’s nation Bot tia 


_ Hailto the chief who in triumph advances 


Kil 
190 


196 
2933 
929 
269 


210 


59 


60 
68 


105 
130 
134 
157 
158 
158 
215 
233 
243 


256 
272 


283 


293 


159 


176 
243 
247 


26 
43 


xii GONTENTS. 


Hlere, a sheer hulk, lies poor Tom Bowling - - 
Her sheep had in clusters crept close to the grove 
He was famed for deeds ofarms - - — - 
How stands the glass around - 
How sweet, at close of silent eve - 
Here’s the bower she lov’d so much 
. Have you not seen the timid tear 
Hark! the vesper hymn is stealing 
Hail! America, hail! unrivall’d in fame 
How blest the life a sailor leads —- - 
Here’s a health to ane I lo’e dear - - 
How dear to this heart are the scenes of my child- 
hood see - : - - - - 
flere mark a poor desolate maid - - . 
Haste, idle time, oh! haste away - - - 
Here we meet, too soon to part — - . - 
He was a chief of low degree - - - 
Hark! the muffled drum sounds the last march of 
the brave - - - - - - - - 
Has sorrow thy young days shaded - - - 
He comes from the wars, from the red field of fight 


tot Ea 
er es 
este Ste ere 


I knew by the smoke that so gracefully curl’d - 
It ofttimes has been told - - - - 
In a chariot of light from the regions of day - 
I sing the maid of Lodi - - - - - 
Tn the downhill of life when I find I’m declining - 
Is there a heart that never lov’d  - - - - 
It was Dunois, the young and brave - ~~ - - 
I have a silent sorrow here - - - - - 
I saw thy form in youthful prime - + . 
I saw from the beach when the morning was shining 
Is there for honest poverty. -  - tangy ites 
I sail’d from the Downs in the Nancy -- - 
In storms when clouds obscure the sky - 
I give thee all, I can no more - - 
Tf I had a beau for a soldier who’d go - - 
Jn April when primroses print the sweet plain - 
I’ve been roaming, I’ve been roaming = - - - 
If a body meet a body comin’ through the tye - 
I love thee not for that darkly brillianteye - — - 


47 
97 
112 
128 


144 


164 
161 
177 
184 
200 
219 


226 
242 
272 
274 
284 


285 
290 
293 


30 
49 
56 
95 


_ 101 


129 
135 
146 
164 
165 
169 
185 
187 
194 

208 
220 
230 
931 
259. 


i 


Morning around usisbeaming -— - ae al 


ee , 


Now is it not a pity such a pretty girl ash tae es 


” 
~ 


‘. CONTENTS. i Xili 
In Chester’s town a man there dwelt - - - 263 

l saw thee weep, the briny tear - - - + eee 
Tm wearing awa, Jean - aU a a i AZO 
I’ve just dropp’d in to make a call - - - 276 
[ll love thee as the wild bee loves | - - - 303 
John Anderson, my Jo, John. - Eig ee - 63 
Julio told me when we parted - - - - 291 
Life let us cherish mAs |.) 5 PR ew Rat ROO) 
Lassie wi’ the lint-white locks - - - - 67 

_ Let him who sighs in sadness here - - 2), 106... 
Love’s blind, they say, oh, never nay - - - 118 
Loud roar’d the dreadful thunder - - - - 124 
Let us go, lassie, go - - . . - - 137 
Let the farmer praise his grounds ae Ps ie ORB 
_ Love, my Mary, dwells with thee athe Se hres TGS. 
Let Erin remember the days of old - - - 166 
‘Love was once a little boy - - - - - 232 
Loudon’s bonnie woods and braes_ - - - - 244 
Love, art thou waking or sleeping - - ' - 250 
Love thee, dearest, love thee - - - - 289 
Leave thy lone pillow - - - - ar 298 
My thoughts delight to wander" - - <The) ek 
Mary, I believ’d thee true - - - - - 6 
My seventeenth year scarce over - a a Re, 
_ Merrily every bosom boundeth - - Rig ts i OG 
’*Mid pleasures, and palaces, though we may roam = 116 

My name d’ye see’s Tom Tough, I’ve seen a little 

service - - - - - - - - 145 
Ma chere amie, my charming fair - - - 187 
Mulrooney’s my name, ’macomicalboy - - 188 
My mind is my kingdom, but if thou wilt deign - 225 

_ Mr. Po was a man of greafrichesand fame - - 245+ 
My heartissair,I darenatell - - - + 28% 
My dark-eyed maid! within thy bower = iNtypin 294 
March to the battle field - - - - 297 


01 
102 


* 


' O, lassie, art thou sleeping yet 


e 


xiv i CONTENTS, | 


Now the rage of battle aisea iinet Se 


Now in her green mantle blithe Nature arrays 
Now we’re all met here together - - 


Oh! say, can you see by, the dawn’s early light 
O! Logie of Buchan, O! Logie the laird - 
Oh! weep forthe hour - . - - 
O young Lochinvar is come out if the west 


O where, tell me where is your Highland laddie gone 


O think on my fate, once I freedom enjoy’d 
O, why should the girl of my soul be in tears 


‘wind doth blow - - a 
Oh! years have flown since first we met ° 
Oh! welcome, Warrior! tothe soil = - 


_ Oh! the days are gone, when beauty bright 


Oh! did you not hear of Kate Kearney 
One evening of late, young Colin I met 
O, say not woman’s love is bought - 
O ‘lady, twine no wreath for me 


Q, had I in the clear five hundred a year - 
Oh! hush the soft sigh, maid, and dry the eit tear 
~O, my love’s like a red, red rose - 


O how can I be blithe and glad - 
Oh! remember the time in la Mancha’s dumdes 


0, take me to your arms, my love, for keen the 


Oh! breathe not his name, let it sleep in the shade 


Oh! no—not e’en when first we lov’d - 
O! Willie brew’d a peck o’ maut 
Of o’ the airts the wind can blaw 
O’er barren hills and flowery dales 


Ofall the streams that gently flow - 
QO Lilla, we live but by loving - 
Of all the girls that are so smart - 
©! ‘tis love! ’tis love! ’tis loved - - 
Our bugles sang hah atl pee -night-cloud 


4 a ay & 8 4 


lowered - 
Oft in the stilly night ° - 
Oh! think not my spirits are always as light 
Oh! Thou who dry’st the mourner’s tear - 
QO, uss rose the morning, the sun in mild splendour 


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_ Oh! had I leisure to sigh and mourn ‘ 


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& 


NR vite ns : 
Q! what a row! what a rumpus and a rioting 
O, dear is my cottage, unclouded by sorrow 


Oh! young maiden hearts beware - 
Oh! happy tawny Moor, when you, love 
.O, cease to upbraid, while I seek to.entwine | 


Pretty little damsels, how they chat - — - 
Peaceful slumbering on the ocean - + 
Pretty lady, pretty gentleman - 

Pretty, pretty Polly Hopkins, how d’ye do 


Roy’s wife of Aldivalloch - : - - 

Return, enraptured hours - sii in 
Remember thee ! yes, while there’s life in this heart 

Reason, and Folly, and Beauty, they say - - 


aot te) ieee, aes 


Says Plato, why should man be vain - 8 
Scots wha hae wi’ Wallace bled | ~~ - 
Should auld acquaintance be forgot a sk ot eed 
Should auld acquaintance be forgot (La Fayette) 
See Decatur, our hero, returns from the West - 
Shepherds, I have lost my love - - - 
Sure won’t you hear what roaring cheer ee eae 
Since then i’m doom’d this sad reverse to prove 
Sae flaxen were her ringlets _ aS a=: aa aD ee 


Sublime was the warning which liberty spoke - 


She is far fromthe land where her young hero sleeps. 


Stay, sweet enchanter of the grove <i anki 
Shall all the hues of morn decay 
“Should e’er the fortune be my lot 
She walks in beauty like the night 
Soon asthe busyday iso’er — = - 
Sweet is the ship that under sail” , 
Sir Jerry Go-Nimble was lame of a leg 
Silent, oh, Moyle! be the roar of thy water 
Should these fond hopes e’er forsake thee —- 
Survey the ample realm around - - 
Swift from the covert the merry pack fled - 
Say, my heart, why, wildly beating eat 
Should he upbraid, ’ll own that he prevail - 


ae, fe 
SR BT 
v 


XV 
266 
275 


298 









eee 


Xvi ..) CGONTENTS. 


The shepherds call me little Sue ary 
_ The glasses sparkle on the board he 


The harp that once through Tara’s halls... - ; 





The wealthy foo! with gold in store . as Ne 


‘The world, my.dear Myra, is full of deceit - ” ae 
_ There is not in the wide world a valley so sweet 
_ ‘There came to the beach a poor exile of Erin 


The sun has gane down o’er the lofty Benlomond 


"T'was at the town of nate Clogheen - -' 
_ 'The moon had climb’d the highest hill ws ie 


The sun sets at night, and the stars sun the day 
Through city, town, and village, I every where 
have rovd ~~ - - - - 
Thy cheek is 0’ the rose’s hue - - 
To a shady retreat fair Eliza I trae’d — - 
“There’s nought but care on oval han’ 


“Twas summer, and softly the breezes were blowing 


Tell her I'll love her while the clouds drop rain =. 


The savage loves his native shore Ca | ao ait ies 
“T'was on the morn of sweet May day - - “ 
The moon was beaming silver bright -  - - 
"T'was Autumn, and round me the leaves were de- 
., Scending - - - - - - 
a&here’s a bliss beyond all that the minstrel has told 
msigh, yet feel no pain - - - - 
‘Though love is warm awhile _ - - 
The scene was more beautiful far tomy eye 
This world is all a fleeting show at fais Sm 
The oak of our fathers to freedom was dear 
The lawland lads think they are fine - - 


Thou lingering star, with lessening ray - 
There’s auld Rob Morris that wons in yon glen 
Turn again, thou fair Eliza - -  - 


True hearted was he, the sad swain 0’ the Yarrow 


The wreath you wové, the wreath you, wove a 


"Tis the last rose of summer - - 

Then fare thee well, my own dear love - 
There’s braw, braw lads on Yarrow braés ® 
The minstrel boy to the war is gone - 
The sea was calm, the sky serene Hae 
‘Fhe gale was propitious, all canvas was spread 


* 
al 


?* 





if" y ¥ bryidies = A 
rants: % ’ ‘g e 
a Pt. 





CONTENTS. XVil 
ig a ii 
hin a wile of Edinboro’ town 2 - 195 

































- 198° 
he topsails shiver in the wind 201 


ae post meridian half past four. - 


e shadows of eve gan to steal o’er the 
Twas you, sir; ‘twas you, sir 
The kiss, dear maid, thy lips have left 
Take, oh! take those lips away 2 
The lad that I love no lassie shall know, 
bres oladies’ eyes a round, boy mai, 
; e time I’ve lost in wooing : -— 
The turf shall be my fragrant shrine - — 
_ The tuneful lav’rocks c the grove 
4 ‘Toll not the bell of death me - 
‘The day is now dawning, love - -. 
Tell me, have you seen a toy oP Se 
“There’s an isle, clasp’d by waves, in an emet 
The sky with clouds was overcast 9 
Tis sweet upon the close of day - 5 SS 
Teun ‘art gone from thy lover - - 280 
‘0 the sages who spoke—to the heroes His Ned 283 


» the mountain’s wild echo I warble my aye - 287 
"ig said, but whether true or not : - 288 
> day, ‘dearest, is ours - - + - 289 
here’ sa tear that flows when we part - - 294 
ake, Columbia! wake the lyre - ai Ue 
/Will you come to the bower I’ve shaded for you - 42 
| Why should we at our Jots complain - - 42 
When Steerwell heard me first impart - - 61 
When the black lettered list to aac gees was pre- 
‘sented : - Me Oe 
What’s this dulltown tome . - ire - - 7% 
k Welcome, welcome, La Fayette «se = 108 
Why does azure deck the sky - ugg - 107 
When wild war’s deadly blast was blown - = 107 
When Charley did his love confess. —- - os ers 
Where are you going, my pretty maid - - ll 
1 When William Fell as hese dts die = - 136 
’s this dull town to me (Hard Times) - 139 
v When love? an idle passion = - a CRE ET 4e 
merely woman stoops to folly - - - 145 


te 









ig 


When thro’ life unblest we rove “ 
When first I, - 
smydeary - - - - 


_ Wilt thou be 
When fr blows the northern gale - 
When he who adores thee has left but the name “9 
_ Wake, dearest, wake! and again united - = a 


When sorrow, clouds thy dream of mirth - - 

When Vulean forged the bolts of Jove pal 

When the sheep were in the fauld, and the kyea’ eS 
hame i - - +r | = aeO8 













_ Whene’er with haggard eyes I view Hen cei... 
When first a poor girl feels love’s tender smart = - 217 

I was a boy in my father’s mud edifice - 218 
(Whawadnabeinlove = =- = = - - —--- 22 
_ When life looks long and dreary i L ws) 236 
~ When ocks sweet and yellow broom - - 247 
Where nature is, is beauty - abil wtomt by aap 
Whether sailor or not, for a moment avast - 264 
Weep not for those whom the veil, of the tomb -' 254 


When Charles was deceived by the maid he lov’d | 259 
Wreath the bowl iii os - -. + 260 
When on thy bosom I recline - - - 261: 
What’s an old bachelor like - - - - 262 
Why, fair maid, in ev'ry feature Firat ey 2OBt 
When a boy, Harry Bluff, left his friendsand his home ae 


When the weary sun declineth - - = - 
Wilt thou say farewell, love —- Meg = 285 
Ve banks and braes and streams around - - §2 
Ye banks and braes of bonny Doon - a eae 
Young Damon ‘long studied my heart toobtain - 86 
Young Colin did ask me what life I would choose 90 
Ye gentlemen and ladies fair - ~ - - 91 
Young love flew to the Paphian bower cae») 129 
\ Ye gallants bright, I rede yeright - > - 171 
_ Young love liv’d once'in an humble shed  - = - -—«*177 
Yankee Doodle is the ttme oy Ne Dd = 298 
Your heart and lute are allthe store - - - 300 
¥e sons of freedom, wake to glory - = 9+ 304 





 ‘WHSTNEEN SONGSTRR. 


eee, Lane F. S. Key, Esq. 
O! SAY, can you see, by the dawn’s early light, © Aa as! 
What so proudly we hail’d at the twilight’s last gleam- 


ing 
Whose broad stripes and bright stars through the peri- 
lous fight, 
O’er the ramparts we watch’d were so gallantly stream- 
ing? 
And the rockets’ red glare, the bombs bursting in air, 
Gave proof through the night that our flag was still 
there ; 
O! say, does that Star-spangled Banner yet wave, 
O’er the land of the free, and the home of the brave? 


On the shore dimly seen through the mists of the deep, 
Where the foe’s haughty host in dread silence reposes, 

“What is that which the breeze, o’er the towering steep, 
As it fitfully blows, half conceals, half discloses? 

Now it catches the gleam of the morning’s first beam, 

Yn full glory reflected now shines on the stream: 
’Tis the Star-spangled Banner, O! long may it wave 
O’er the land of the free and the home of the brave. 


and where is that band, who so vauntingly swore 
That the havoc of war and the battle’s confusion, 
A home and a country, should leave us no more? 
Their blood has wash’d out their foul footsteps’ polli- 
tion, 
A 


u 


\ 


aS a ; = 
2 
ais ; 


sighs, uns 1 
20 THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 


No refuge could save the hireling and slave, 

From the terror of flight or the gloom of the grave, 
And the Star-spangled Banner in triumph doth wave, 
O’er the land of the free and the home of the brave. _ 


©! thus be it ever when freemen shall stand, "is 
Between their lov’d home, and the war’s desolation, 
ee with viet’ry and peace, may the Heaven-rescu’d 
and, 
Praise the Power that hath made and preservd us a 
“nation! ie ihe Tia 
Then conquer we must, when our cause it is just, 
And this be our motto—“ In Go Lis our trust ;” 
And the Star-spangled Banner in triumph shall wave 
O’er the land of t e and the home of the brave. 













_ eb 





LIFE LET US CHERISH .—By Mozart. 


Life let us cherish 
While yet the taper glows, 
And the fresh flow’ret, 
Pluck ere it close. 
Why are we fond of toil and eare, 
Why choose the rankling thorn to wear, 
And heedless by the lily stray, 
Which blossoms in our way. 
When clouds obscure the atmosphere, “ 
And forked lightnings rend the air, 
The sun resumes his silver east, 
And smiles a-down the west. 
Life let us cherish, &e. 


The genial seasons soon are o’er, 

Then let us ere we quit this shore 

Contentment seek, it is life’s rest, 

The sunshine of the breast. 
™” Life let us cherish, &c. 


Away with every toil and care, & 
And cease the rankling thorn to wear. 


nigh 
» THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 21 
With manful hearts life’s conflicts meet, 


Tull death sounds the retreat. 
Life let us cherish, &c. 





FRIEND AND PITCHER.—By O’ Keefe. 


The wealthy fool, with gold in store, 
Will still desire to grow richer, 
Give me but these, I ask no more, 
My charming girl, my friend and pitcher. 
My friend so rare, my girl so fair, 
With such, what m i, can be richer, 
Give me but ‘these, : for care, 
With my sweet girl, my friend and niteher, 





From morning sun I'd never grieve, | 
To toil a hedger or a ditcher, 
If that when I came home at eve, 
I might enjoy my friend and pitcher. 
My friend so rare, &c. 


Though fortune ever shuns my door, 
ae know not what’can thus bewitch her ; 2 
With all my heart can [ be poor, 
With my sweet girl, my friend and pitcher. 
‘egy friend go rare, &e. 





ROY’S WIFE OF ALDIVALLOCH.—By Mrs. Grant. 


Roy’s wife of Aldivalloch, 
Roy’s wife of Aldivalloch ; ; 
at ye how she cheated me, _ - 
As I came o’er the braes of Balloch. 


She vow’d, she swore she wad be mine, 
She said that she lo’ed- me best of ony; 
But oh the fickle, faithless quean, 
She’s ta’en the carl and left her Johnny. is 
Roy’s wife, &c, 


, * af * \. 
22 | THE WESTERN SONGSTER: 


Roy’s wife of Aldivalloch, 

Roy’s wife of Aldivalloch ; 
Wat ye how she cheated me, 

As I came o’er the braes of Balloch. 
O she was a canty quean, 

And weel could dance the Highland walloch ; 
How happy I, had she been mine, 

Or I'd been Roy of Aldivalloch. - 

Roy’s wife, &c. 


Roy’s wife of Aldivalloch, 

Roy’s wife of Aldivalloch ; 
Wat ye how she cheated me, 

As I came o’er the braes of Balloch. 
Her hair sae fair, her e’en sae clear, 

Her wee bit mou’, sae sweet and bonny, 

: ‘To me she ever will be dear, 
Tho’ she’s forever left her Johnny. 
Roy’s wife, &c. 


Roy’s wife of Aldivalloch, 
Roy’s wife of Aldivalloch ; 
Wat ye how she cheated me, 
As I came o’er the braes of Balloch. 
But Roy’s age is three times mine, 
I think his days will nae be mony, 
And when the carl’s dead and gane, 
She'll, may be, rue and tak’ her Johnny. 
Roy’s wife, &c,. " 





From the Ladies’ Garland, Oct. 30th, 1825. 


Mr. GattaueEr, Editor of the Garland. 


I send you two songs, “The Rural Clown” and 
‘‘ Myra.” The former, I believe, has never been in 
print; they are the effusions of the poetical genius of 
Mrs. Margaret Smith, in her old age. They were writ- 
ten (say forty years since) in Kentucky; she was the 
wife of Col. James Smith, who was taken prisoner by the 
Indians a few days before Braddock’s defeat (in 1755), 


THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 38 


and was detained with them about five years. The Col. 
is known, also, as being Captain of the Black boys, “in 
the days that tried men’s souls.” —W. B. M. 


ee 


THE RURAL CLOWN.—By Mrs. Margaret Smith. 


How happy lives the rural Clown, 

That’s far remov’d from noise of town, 

Contemus the glories of a crown, 
And in his safe retreat 

He’s pleased in his low degree, 

He’s rich in decent poverty ; 

From strife, from care, from business free, 
At once, both good and great. 


No drums disturb his morning sleep, 

He fears no dangers from the deep, 

No noisy lows, or courts can keep 
Vexation on his mind,— 

No trumpets rouse him to the war, 

No hopes can bribe, no threats can dare ; 

From states’ intrigues he holds afar, 
And liveth unconfined. 


Now by some purling stream he lies, 
And angles with his hook and flies, 
Amidst those sylvan scenes he tries 
His spirits to regale ; 
Then from some rock, or height, he views 
His fleecy flock and teaming cows, 
Then tunes his reed, invokes his muse 
That waits his humble call. 


Then through some shady myrtle grove, 

A faithful scene of rural Jove, 

And warbling birds on blooming boughs, 
Affords a fresh delight— 

-Then O! how pleasant is this life, 
Bless’d with a chaste and loving wife, 
And children prattling, free from strife, 

Around his fire side at night. 


% A2 


24 THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 
& " 


MYRA.—By Mrs. Margaret Smith. 


The world, my dear Myra, is full of deceit, 
And friendship’s a jewel we seldom can meet ; 
How strange does it seem that in searching around, 
The source of contentment’s so rare to be found. 
O! friendship, thou balm and rich sweetener of life, 
Kind parent of ease, and composer of strife, 
Without thee, alas! What are riches and power— 
But empty delusions, the joy of an hour. 


How much to be prized and esteem’d is a friend, 
‘On whom we may always with safety depend; 
Our joy, when extended, will always increase, 
And griefs, when divided, are hush’d into peace. 
O! friendship, &c. 


While fortune is smiling, whole crowds will appear, 
Their kindness to offer and friendship sincere, 
Yet change but the prospect, and point out distress, 
No longer to court you they eagerly press. 
O! friendship, &c. 


ee 


RURAL FELICITY. 


hare haste to the wedding, ye friends and ye neigh. 
ours, | 
The lovers their bliss can no longer delay, 
Forget all your sorrows, your care and your labours, 
And let ev’ry heart beat with rapture to-day: 
Ye votaries all attend to my call, . 
Come revel in pleasures that never can cloy, 


Come see rural felicity, which love and innocence ever 
enjoy. 
Let envy, let pride, let hate and ambition, 
Still crowd to and beat at the breast of the great, 
To such wretched passions, we give no admission, 
But leave them alone to the wise ones of state. 


THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 25 


We boast of no wealth, 
But contentment and health, 
In mirth and in friendship our moments employ. 
Come see, &c. 


With reason we taste of each heart stirring pleasure, 
With reason we drink of the full flowing bowl; 
Are jocund and gay, but all within measure, 
For fatal excess will enslave the free soul. 
Come, come at our bidding, 
To this happy wedding, 
No care shall intrude here our bliss to annoy. 
Come see, &c. 


er ee 


KATHARINE OGIE.—Burns. 


As walking forth to view the plain, 
Upon a morning early, 
While May’s sweet scent did cheer my brain, 
From flow’rs which grew so rarely, 
{ chane’d to meet a pretty maid, 
She shin’d though it was fogie, 
J ask’d her name; Sweet sir, she said, 
My name is Kath’rine Ogie. 


{ stood awhile, and did admire, 
_To see a nymph so stately ; 

So brisk an air there did appear, 
In a country maid so neatly: 

Such natural sweetness she display’d, 
Like lilies in a bogie ; 

Diana’s self was ne’er array’d 
Like this same Kath’rine Ogie. 


Thou flow’r of females, Beauty’s queen, 
Who sees thee sure must prize thee, 

Tho’ thou art drest in robes but mean, 
Yet these cannot disguise thee : 

Thy handsome air, and graceful look, 
Far excels a clownish rogie ; 

Thou’rt match for laird, or lord, or duke, 
My charming Kath’rine Ogie. 


Pe 


26 THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 


O! were I but some shepherd swain, 
To feed my flock beside thee; 
At bughting-time to leave the plain, 
In milking to abide thee ; 
I’d think myself a happier man, 
With Kate, my club, and dogie ; 
Than he that hugs his thousands ten, 
Had I but Kath’rine Ogie. 


Then I’d despise the imperial throne, 
And statesmen’s dang’rous stations ; 

Vd be no king, I'd wear no crown, 
I'd smile at conqu’ring nations ; 

Might I caress, and still possess 
This lass of whom I’m vogie ; 

For they are toys, and still look less, 
Compar’d with Kath’rine Ogie. 

But I fear the gods have not decreed 
For me so fine a creature; 

Whose beauty rare makes her exceed 
All other works in nature. 

Clouds of despair surround my love, 
That are both dark and fogie ; 

Pity my case, ye powers above, 
Else 1 die for Kath’rine Ogie. 





THE GARLAND OF LOVE. 


How sweet are the flow’rs that grow by yon fountain, 
And sweet are the cowslips that spangle the grove ; 
And sweet is the breeze that blows o’er the mountain, 
But sweeter by far is the lad that I love. 
Pll weave a gay garland, a fresh blooming garland, 
With lilies and rosies and sweet blooming posies, 
To give to the lad my heart, my heart, tells me I loye. 


{t was down ia the glade where sweet Larza gliding, 
In murmuring streams ripple through the dark grove, 
I own’'d what I felt, all my passions confining, 
To cease the fond sigh for the lad that { love. 
Then I'll weave, &e. | 





- THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 27 


THE MEETING OF THE WATERS.—By Moore. 
Air.— The Head of Old Dennis.” 


There is not in the wide world a velley so sweet, 

As that vale in whose bosom the bright waters meet ; 
Oh! the last rays of feeling and life must depart, 

Ere the bloom of that valley shall fade from my heart. 


Yet it was not that nature had shed o’er the scene 
Her purest of crystal and brightest of green ; 

’*T was not the soft magic of streamlet or hill, 

Qh! no,—it was something more exquisite still. 


*T was that friends, the beloved of my bosom were near, 
Who made each dear scene of enchantment more dear ; 
And who felt how the blest charms of nature improve, 
When we see them reflected from looks that we love. 


Sweet vale of Ovoca! how calm could I rest 

In thy bosom of shade with the friends | love best; 

Where the storms which we feel in this cold world should 
cease 

And our hearts, like thy waters, be mingled in peace! 





THE MASON’S FAREWELL.—By Burns. 
Tune— Good night, and joy be wi’ ye a’.” 


Adieu, a heart-warm fond adieu, 

Dear brothers of the mystic tie; 

Ye favour’d and enlighten’d few, 
Companions of my social joy; 

Though I to foreign lands must hie, 
Pursuing fortune’s slippery ba’; 
With melting heart and’brimful eye, 

V1l mind you still tho’ far awa. 


Oft have I met your social band, 
Yo spend a cheerful festive night; 
Oft honour’d with supreme command, 


oe the sons of light; 
et * , 


25 THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 


And by that hieroglyphic bright, 
Which none-but craftsmen ever saw, 
Strong mem’ry on my heart shall write 
Those happy scenes when far awa. 


May freedom, harmony, and love, 
Unite you in the grand design, 
Beneath th’ Omniscient eye above, 
The glorious Architect divine! 
That you may keep th’ unerring rule, 
Still guided by the plummet’s law, 
Till order bright completely shine, 
Shall be my prayer when far awa. 
tt farewell, whose merits claim 
that highest badge to wear; 
May Heaven bless your noble name, 
To Masonry and Scotia dear; 
A last request permit me here, 
When yearly you’re assembled a’, 
One round, [ask it with a tear, 
To bim, the friend, that’s far awa. 


And you, kind-hearted sisters fair, 

I sing farewell to all your charms, 

Th’ impression of your pleasing air, 
With rapture oft my bosom warms; 
Alas, the social winter’s night | 

‘No more returns while breath we draw, 
Till sisters, brothers, all unite, 

In that Grand Lodge that’s far awa. 








. LOGIE OF BUCHAN.—By Burns. 


QO! Logie of Buchan, O! Logie the daird, 

They have ta’en awa Jamie that delv’d in the yard, 
Who play’d on the pipe wi’ the viol sae sma, 
They ha’e ta’en awa Jamie, the flow’er o’ them a’. 
He said, think na lang lassie, though I gang awa, 
He said, think na lang lassie, though I gang awa, 
For the simmer 1s coming, cauld winter’s awa, 

And I'll come and see thee, in spite o’ them a’. 


Oo 
a) 


THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 


Sandy has ousin, has gear, and has kye: 
A house, and a hadden, and siller for by, 
But I'd tak’? min ain lad wi’ his staff 1m his, hand, 
Before I'd ha’e him with his houses and land. 

. He said, &c, 
My daddy looks sulky, my mither looks sour, 
They frown upon Jamie, because he is poor ; 
Tho’ ¥ lo’e them as well as a daughter should do, 
-They’re na half so dear to me, my Jamie, as you. 

He said, &c. e 

I sit on my creepie, and spin at my wheel, 
' And think on the laddie that lo’ed me sae weel ; 
He had but a saxpence, he brake it in tw: 
And he gied me the ha’f o’t when he ga’ 
Then haste ye back, Jamie, and bide na awa, 
Then haste ye back, Jamie, and bide na awa, 
For the simmer is coming, cauld winter’s awa, 
And ye’ll come and see me in spite 0’ them a’. 









THE WOUNDED HUSSAR.—By Campbell. 


Alone to the banks of the dark-rolling Danube 
Fair Adelaide hied when the battle was o’er: 

Oh whither, she cried, hast thou wander’d, my tover : 
Or where dost thou welter, and bleed on the shore * 
What voice did I hear? ’twas my Henry that sigh’d,— 

AW mournful she hasten’d, nor wander’d she far, 
When bleeding, and low, on the heath she descried, 
By the light of the moon, her poor wounded hussar ! 


From his bosom that heav’d, the last torrent was stream- 
ing, 
Andipale was his visage deep mark’d with a scar ; 
And dim was that eye, once expressively beaming, 
That melted in love, and that kindled in war !- 
How smit was poor Adelaide’s heart at the sight! 
How bitter she wept o’er the victim of war! 
Hast thou come, my fond love, this last sorrowful night. 
To cheer the lene heart of your wounded hussar ' 


E f 


30 THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 


Thou shalt live, she replied, Heaven’samercy relieving, 
Each anguishing. wound shall forbid me to mourn! 
Ah, no! the last pang in my bosom is heaving ; 
No light of the morn shall to Henry return! 
Thou charmer of life, ever tender and true ! 
Ye babes of my love that await me afar ! 
His falt’ring tongue scarce could murmur adieu, 
When he sunk in her arms, the poor wounded hussar ° 





EVELEEN’S BOWER.—By T. Moore. 
Oh, weep for the hour, 
When to Eveleen’s bower 
The lord of the valley with false vows came ; 
The moon hid her light 
From the heavens that night, 
And wept behind the clouds o’er the maiden’s shame. 


The clouds past soon. 
From the chaste cold moon, 
And heaven smil’d again with her vestal flame ; 
But none will see the day 
When the clouds shall pass away, 
Which that dark hour left upon Eveleen’s fame. 


The white snow lay 
On the narrow path-way 
Where the lord of the valley cross’d over the moor : 
And many a deep print — 
On the white snow’s tint, Ne 3 
Show’d the track of his footstep to Eveleen’s door. 


The next sun’s ray 

Soon melted away 
Ev’ry trace on the path where the false lord came ; 
fe But there’s a light above 

Which alone can remove 
That stain upon the snow of fair Eveleen’s fame. 


% 





COLUMBIAN INDEPENDENCE.—By G. J. Hunt 
Tune—* Hail Columbia.” . 


Wake, Columbia! wake the lyre, 
Touch the silver chords with fire; 


THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 31 


Bid the holy flames arise, 

Mounting swiftly to the skies ; 
Music sweet, and music strong, 
Rouse the soul with lyric song. 


Goddess of this western clime, 
Tune thy notes to joys sublime ! 
Rapt in glory’s brightest blaze, 
Gallant heroes proudly raise 
Shouts of triumph, sounding far, 
Louder than the storm of war: 


Godlike courage won the day— 

Baffled Britain lost her sway ; 
Ghastly stood her trembling king— 
Quick he felt the dreadful sting, 

When Columbia’s sons had sworn, 

“ Death !—or, lo! a nation’s born ;” 


Born—a nation stood sublime, 

Virtue’s proof—the test of time ; 
England’s vassals now return, 
Help their weeping nation mourn ; 

Tyranny had fled our coast ; 

Gain’d one world, a world was lost: 


British insults we forgive, 
Memory keeps the flame alive: 
May it ever nobly rise, 
To the bright cerulean skies, 
Strike Columbia’s sons with awe, 
Bid them shun the tiger’s paw. 


Independent, firm and free, 

Blest with heavenly liberty ;— 
Smiling o’er our happy land, 
Peace, with all her lovely band, 

Moves triumphant in her car, 

Spurns the bloody field of war. 


Europe’s sons at death may smile, 

Pleas’d to share the battle’s toil ;— 
In the arms of smiling peace, 
See our infant world increase: 


an a B 


ise) 
A) 


THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 
Thus we find a rich reward, | 
While with peace and plenty stor’d. 


Ye fair daughters of our land, 

Join the circle, hand in hand; __ 
Touch the tender melting string—- 
To the music sweetly sing: 

Sound the praise of heroes gone, 

Sound the praise of Washington. 


Loud Io peans rend the air ; 
Freedom’s birth with joy declare: 
Sing with mirth, and sing with glee, 
Tis our sacred jubilee ;— 
Sound the trump from pole to pole, 
"Till old time shall cease to roll. 





THE EXILE OF ERIN.—By Thomas Campbell. 


There came to the beach a poor exile of Erin, 
The dew on his thin robe hung heavy and chill; 
For his country he sigh’d, when at twilight repairing, 
To wander alone by the wind beaten hill: 
But the day-star attracted his eyes’ sad devotion, 
For it rose on his own native Isle of the Ocean, 
Where once in the glow of his youthful emotion, 
He sung the bold anthem of Erin Go Bracu! 


O, sad is my fate! said the heart-broken stranger, 
The wild deer and wolf to a covert can flee; 
But I have no refuge from famine or danger, 
A home and a country remain not for me ; 
Ah! never again in the green sunny bowers, 
Dave my forefathers liv’d shall. I spend the sweet 
ours, 
Or cover my harp with the wild woven flowers, 
And strike to the numbers of Enix Go Bracu! 


QO, where is my Cottage that stood by the wild wood ? 
Sisters and sires, did ye weep for its fall ! 

O, where is the mother that watch’d o’er my childhood, 
And where is the bosom friend dearer than all ? 


THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 33 


Ah! my sad soul, long abandon’d by pleasure, 

O, why did it doat on a fast fading treasure— 
Tears, like the rain drops, may fall without measure, 
But rapture and beauty they cannot recal! 


Erin, my country,.though sad and forsaken, 

In dreams I revisit thy sea-beaten shore! 
But alas! in a far distant land 1 awaken, 

And sigh for the friends who can meet me no more! 
O, hard, cruel fate, wilt thou never replace me 
In a mansion of peace, where no peril can chase me! 
Ah! never again shall my brothers embrace me, 
They died to defend me, or live to deplore! 
But yet, all its fond recollections suppressing, 

One dying wish my lone bosom shall draw : 
_ Erin, an exile bequeaths thee his blessing, 

Land of my forefathers, Erin Go Bracu! 
Buried and cold, when my heart stills its motion, 
Green be thy fields, sweetest isle of the ocean, 
And thy harp-striking bards sing aloud with devotion, 
O, ERIN MA VORNEEN il Go Braces! 





_ JESSIE, THE FLOWER O’ DUMBLANE. 
By Tannahili. 


The sun has gane down o’er the lofty Benlomond, 
And left the red clouds to preside o’er the scene, 
While lanely I stray in the calm simmer gloaming, 
To muse on sweet Jessie, the flow’r 0? Dumblane, 
How sweet is the brier wi’ its saft faulding blossom, 
And sweet is the birk wi’ its mantle o’ green, 
Yet sweeter an’ fairer an’ dear to my bosom, 
Is lovely young Jessie, the flow’r 0’ Dumblane, 
Is lovely young Jessie, is lovely young Jessie, 
Is lovely young Jessie, the flow’r o? Dumblane, 


She’s modest as ony, an’ blythe as she’s bonny, 
For guileless simplicity marks her its ain, 
An’ far be the villain divested o’ feeling, 
Why blight in its blossom the sweet flow’r o’ Dum- 
ane. 


34 THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 


Sing on, thou sweet Mavis, thy hymn to the e’ening, 

Thou’rt dear to the echoes o’ Galderwood glen, 
Sae dear to this bosom, sae artless and winning, 

Is charming young Jessie, the flow’r o’? Dumblane. 


How lost were my days, till I met wi’ my Jessie, 

The sports 0’ the city seem’d foolish and vain, 
¥ne’er saw a nymph 1 would ca’ my dear lassie, 

Till charm’d wi? sweet Jessie, the flow’r o? Dumblane. 
Tho’ mine were the station o? loftiest grandeur, 

Amidst its profusion Vd janguish in pain, 
An’ reckon as naething the height o’ its splendour, 

If wanting sweet Jessie, the flow’r o? Dumblane. 





_ SIEGE OF PLATTSBURGH. By M, Hawkins. 
d Tune—“ The Boyne Water. 


Backside of Albany, tan Lake Champlain; 
One little Pond, half full a water— 
Platisburgh dare too, close upohde main— 
Town, small—he grow bigg ereafter. 
On Lake Champlain 
Uncle Sam set he boat; , 
And Massa Macdonough, he sail *°em— 
While Gen’ral M‘Comb, 
Make Plattsburgh he home, 
_ Wid he army, whose courage nebber fail ’em. 


Eleventh day of September, 
in eighteen hundred and fourteen; 
Gubbenner Probose, and he British soldier, 
Come to Plattsburgh, a Tea-party courtin. 
_ An’ he boat come too, 
After Uncle Sam boat— 
Massa Donough do, look sharp out he winder! 
Den Gen’ral M‘Comb, 
Ah! he always home! 
Catch fire too, jiss like a tinder! 


Bow! wow! wow! den de cannon ’gin t? roar! 
In Plattsburgh, an’ all bout dat quarter— 







“THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 35 


Gubbenner Probose try he hand ’pun de shore, I 
While he boat take he luck ’pun de water, 

But Massa Macdonough 
Kick he boat in de head ! 

Break he heart, broke he shin, *tove he calf in— 

An’ Gen’ral M*Comb 

Start ole Probose home! 

Taught me soul den, I muss die a laffin. 


Probose scart so, he left all behind— 
Powder, ball, cannon, tea-pot an kettle— 
Some say, he cotch a cold, perish in he mind, 
*Bloig’d eat so much raw an’ cold vittle. 
Uncle Sam, berry sorry 
To be sure for he pain— 
Wish he nuss heself up, well an’ hearty— 
For Gen’ral M‘Comb 
An’ Massa Donough home, 
When he notion for a nudder tea party. 
SE 










I KNEW BY TE OKE.—By Thomas Moore. 


I knew by the smoke that so gracefully curl’d 
Above the green elms, that a cottage was near ; 

And I said, “If there’s peace to be found in the world, 
The heart that was humble, might hope for it here.” 


*T was noon, and on flowers that languish’d around, 
In silence repos’d the voluptuous bee ; 
Ev’ry leaf was at rest, and I heard not a sound, 
But the woodpecker tapping the hollow beech tree. 


And “here in this lone little wood,” IT exclaimed, __ 

«With a maid who was lovely to soul and to eye,” — 
Who would blush when I prais’d her, and weep when I 

blam’d, 

How blest could I live, and how calm could I die. 
By the shade of yon sumach, whose red berry dips 

In the gush of the fountain, how sweet to recline, 
And to know that I sigh’d upon innocent lips, 

Which had never been sigh’d on by any but mine. 

B 2 


36 THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 


BRIGHT PHOEBUS. 


Bright Phoebus has mounted the chariot of day, 

And the horns and the hounds call each sportsman away ; 

Through meadows and woods with speed now they 
bound, by hes 

Whilst health, rosy health, is in exercise found. 
Hark! away, is the word to the sound of the horn, 
And echo, blythe echo, makes jovial the morn. 


Each hill and each valley is lovely to view, 

While puss flies the covert, and dogs quick pursue, 

Behold where she flies o’er the wide spreading plain, 

While the loud open pack pursue her amain. 
Hark! away, &c. 


At length puss is caught, and lies panting for breath, 
And the shout of the huntsman’s the signal for death ; 
No joys can delight like the sports of the field, 
To hunting, all pastime and pleasure mizst yield. 
Hark! away, &c. ih 
THE FARMER. 
Come, each jovial fellow who loves to be mellow, 
Attend unto me and sit easy ; 
One jorum and quiet, we quickly will try it, 
Dull thinking will make a man crazy ; 
For here Iam king, we’ll drink, laugh and sing, 
Let no one appear as a stranger ; 
But show me the ass, that refuses his glass, 
And Pll order him hay in the manger. 





By ploughing and sowing, by reaping and mowing, 
Kind nature supplies me with plenty; 

I’vea cellar well stor’d, and a plentiful board, 
And my cupboard affords every dainty ; 

I have all thing's in season, both woodcock and pheasant, 
Besides, I’m a squire of decorum; | 

At my cabin’s far end, I’ve a bed for a friend 
A clean fire side and a jorum. 


sue 


‘THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 37 


Were it not for seeding, you’d have but poor feeding, 
You’d surely be starving without me; 
Ym always content, when I’ve paid all my rent, 
And Pm happy when friends are about me; 
Draw close to my table, I’m thriving and able, 
Let’s not have a word of complaining; 
Kor the jingling of glasses all music surpasses— 
I love to see bottles a draining. 


Let the mighty and great, loll in splendour and state ; 
Tenvy them not, I declare it; 

T eat my own lamb, my chicken and ham, 
Ishear my own fleece, and I wear it: . 

I’ve lands and I’ve bowers, I’ve fields and I’ve flowers, 
The lark is my daily alarmer ; 

So ye jolly boys now who delight in the plough, 
Let’s drink long life and success to the farmer. 








. HAIL COLUMBIA. 
Hail Columbia! happy land! 
Hail ye heroes! heaven born band! 

Who fought and bled in freedom’s cause, (repeat.) 

And when the storm of war was gone, 
Enjoy’d the peace your valour won. 

Let independence be our boast, 

Ever mindful what it cost ; 

Ever grateful for the prize, 

Let its altar reach the skies. 
Firm—united—let us be, 
Rallying round our liberty ; 

As aband of brothers join’d, 
Peace and safety we shall find. 


Immortal patriots! rise once more ; 
Defend your rights, defend your shore ; 
Let no rude foe, with impious hand, (repeat.) 
Invade the shrine were sacred lies, 
Of toil and blood the well-earn’d prize. 
While offering peace, sincere and just, 
In Heaven we place a manly trust, 





38 


THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 


That truth and justice will prevail, 
And every scheme of bondage fail. 
Firm—united,: &e. / 


_ Sound, sound the trump of fame, ie, 
_ Let Washington’s great name ee, 
Ring through the world with loud applause, (ve- 
Let every clime to freedom dear, peat.) 


Listen with a joyful ear. 
With equal skill, and god-like power, 
He govern’d in the fearful hour 
Of horrid war; or guides, with ease, 
The happier times of honest peace. 
Firm—united, &c. 


Behold the chief, who now commands, 
Once more to serve his country stands— 

The rock on which the storm will beat; (refeat.$ 
But arm’d in virtue firm and true, 
His hopes are fix’d on Heaven and you. 

When hope was sinking in dismay, 

And glooms obscur’d Columbia’s day, 
_ His steady mind, from changes free, 

Resolved on death or liberty. 

Firm—united, &c. 





THE STORM.—By G. A. Stevens. 
SLOW. 


Cease, rude Boreas, blustering railer, 
List, ye landsmen, all to me; 
Messmates, hear a brother sailor 
Sing the dangers of the sea: 
From bounding billows first in motion, 
When the distant whirlwinds rise, 
To the tempest-troubled ocean, 
Where the seas contend with skies, 


THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 39 


LIVELY. 


q 
Hark! the boatswain hoarsely bawling— « 

By topsail sheets and haulyards stand— 
Downtopgallants quick be hauling— 

Down your staysails, hand, boys, hand! 
Now it freshens, set the braces,— 

Now the topsail sheets let go— 
Luff, boys, luff, don’t make wry faces— 
Up your topsails nimbly clew. 


SLOW. 


Now all you at home in safety, 
Shelter’d from the howling storm, 
Tasting joys by Heaven vouchsafed ye, 

Of our state vain notions form. 
Round us roars the tempest louder, 
Think what fear our minds enthralls ; 
Harder yet, it yet blows harder,— 
Now again the boatswain calls! 


LIVELY. 


The topsail yards point to the wind, boyg, 
See all clear to reef each course— 

Let the foresheet go—don’t mind, boys; 
Though the weather should be worse. 

Fore and aft the spritsail yard get— 
Reef the mizen—see all clear— 

Hands up, each preventer brace set— 
Man the foreyard—cheer, lads, cheer. 


SLOW. 


Now the dreadful thunder’s roaring, 
Peal on peal contending clash : 

On our heads fierce rain falls pouring, 
In our eyes blue lightnings flash : 

One wide water all around us, 
All above us one black sky; 

Different deaths at once surround us 
Hark! what means that dreadful cry ? 


40 © 


THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 


LIVELY. 


The foremast’s gone! cries every tongue out, 
O’er the lee, twelve feet ’bove deck; 
A leak beneath the chest-tree’s sprung out— 
Call all hands to clear the wreck. 
Quick the lanyards cut to pieces— 
Come, my hearts, be stout and bold! 
Plumb the well—the leak increases— 
Four feet water in the hold! 


SLOW. 


While o’er the ship wild waves are beating, 
We for wives or children mourn; 
Alas! from hence there’s no retreating, 
Alas! to them there’s no return. 
Still the leak is gaining on us, 
Both chain-pumps are chok’d below; 
Heaven have mercy here upon us! 
For only that can save us now. 


LIVELY. 


0’er the lee-beam is the land, boys— 
Let the guns o’erboard be thrown— 
To the pump come, every hand, boys-—~ 
See our mizenmast is gone. 
The leak we’ve found, it cannot pour fast, 
We’ve lightened her a foot or more; 
Up and rig a jury-foremast— 
She rights !—she rights! boys—wear off shore, 


COMMON, 


Now, once more, peace round us beaming, 
' Since kind Heaven has saved our lives, 
From dur eyes joy’s tears are streaming, 
For our children and our wives; 
Grateful hearts now beat in wonder 
To Him who thus prolongs our days ;— 
Hush’d to rest the mighty thunder— 
Every voice bursts forth in praise. 


THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 4} 


THE AMERICAN STAR. 
Tone— Humours of Glen.” 


‘Come, strike the bold anthem, the war-dogs are how!- 


Ins; 

Already they eagerly snuff up their prey ; 
The red cloud of war o’er our forests is scowling, 

Soft peace spreads her wings, and flies weeping away; 
The infants affrighted, cling close to their mothers, 

The youths grasp their swords, for the combat prepare ; 
While beauty weeps fathers and lovers and brothers, 

Who rush to display the American Star. 


Come blow the shrill bugle—the loud drum awaken— 
The dread rifle seize—let the cannon deep roar ; 

No heart with pale fear, or faint doubtings be shaken, 
No slave’s hostile foot leave a print on our shore ; 

Shall mothers, wives, daughters, and sisters left weep- 


ing 
Insulted by ruffians, be dragg’d to despair ! 

Oh no—from the hills the proud eagle comes swooping, 
And waves to the brave the American Star. 


The spirits of Washington, Warren, Montgomery, 
Look down from the clouds, with bright aspect se- 
rene: 
Come soldiers, a tear and a toast to their memory, 
Rejoicing they'll see us, as they once have been ; 
To us the high boon by the gods has been granted, 
To spread the glad tidings of liberty far, 
let millions invade us, we’ll meet them undaunted : 
And conquer or die by the American Star. 


Your hands then, dear comrades, round liberty’s altar, 
United, we swear by the souls of the brave! 
Not one, from the strong resolution shall falter, 
T’o live independent or sink in the grave. 
Then freemen fill up—Lo! the striped banner’s flying, 
The high birds of liberty scream through the air, 
Beneath her oppression and tyranny dying— 
Success to the beaming American Star. 


42 THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 


WILL YOU COME TO THE BOWER? 
By Thomas Moore. 


Will you come to the bow’r I have shaded for you, 
Your bed shall be roses bespangled with dew. 
Will you, will you, will you, will you, 
ed Come to the bow’r ? 
There under the bow’r on soft roses you lie. 
With ablush on your cheek, but a smile in your eye. 
Will you, will you, &c. 
Smile my belev’d? 
But the roses we press shall not rival your lip, 
Nor the dew be so sweet as the kisses we'll Sip. 
Will you, will you, &c. 
Kiss me, my love? 
And O! for the joys that are sweeter than dew. 
From languishing roses or kisses front you. 
Will you, will you, &c. 
Won't you, my love ? 





DULL CARES, 


Why should we at our lots complain, 
Or grieve at our distress, 

Some think if they could riches gain, 
They’d gain true happiness; 

Alas! how vain, are all their gain, 
This life will soon decay, 

Then whils’t we’re here with friends so dear, 
Let’s drive dull cares away, 


The only circumstance in life, 
That ever I could find, 

To soften care or temper strife, 
Was a contented mind; 

Having that store we have much more 
Than wealth could ere convey. 

And whil’st we’re here with friends go dear, 
We'll drive dull cares away. 


THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 


Why should the rich despise the poor ; 
Why should the poor repine; 

We all will in a few years more, 
In equal friendship join. 

We are much to blame, we are all the same, 
This life is made of clay, 

So whilst we’re here with friends so dear, 
Let’s drive dull cares away. 


Let’s make the best we can of life, 
Not render it a curse; 
But take it, as you would a wife, 
For better or for worse. 
Life at the best is but a jest, 
A dreary winter’ s day. 
So whilst we’re here with friends so dear, 
We’ll drive dull cares away. 


Decline of life, old age comes on, 
And we are young no more— 
Let’s not repine at what we’ve done, 
Nor grieve that youth is o’er; 
But cheerful be, as formerly, 
And innocently gay. 
And whilst we’re here, with friends so dear, 
Let’s drive dull cares away. 





COLUMBIA’S GREAT GLORY. 
Tune— Hail to the Chief.” 


Hallow’d the birth-day of liberty’s nation, 
Sacred the flame on her altar that burns; 
A tear to the chieftan who wrought her salvation, 
And flowers to the grave that his body inurns ; 
He who from darkest night, 
Led us to glory’s light, 
Remaining before us our guidance and star: 
Rid every troubled sea, 
r Pilot of liberty ; 
pe hampion of peace in the ravage of war. 
Cc 


tw 


44 THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 


Vail to the name of Columbia’s great hero, 
Which brighter shines forth thro’ the vista of years ; 
Whilst on history’s page stands the contrast of Nero, 
The king of oppression, and father of tears. 
Then raise the sacred strain, 
Let echo mock again; 
Washington rise on each patriot’s voice, 
Till all Colombia round, 
Swell with the joyous sound, 
And hill and vale in the anthem rejoice. 


es 


MY EMMET’S NO MORE. 

Despair in her wild eye, a daughter of Erin* 
Appear’d on the cliffs of the bleak rocky shore ; 
Loose in the wind flow’d her dark streaming ringlets, 
And heedless she gaz’d on the dread surge’s roar. 

Loud rang her harp in wild tones of despairing ; 

The time passed away with the present comparing, 

And in soul thrilling strains deeper sorrow declaring 
She sang Erin’s woes and her Emmet no more. 


O, Erin my country, your glory’s departed ; 

For tyrants and traitors have stabbed thy heart’s core ; 
Thy daughters have laved in the streams of affliction, 

Thy patriots have fled, or lie stretch’d in their gore. 
Ruthless ruffians now prowl thro’ thy hamlets forsaken, 
From pale hungry orphans their last morsel have taken ; 
The screams of thy females no pity awaken ; 

Alas ! my poor country, your Emmet’s no more. 


Brave was his spirit, yet mild as the Brahmin, 
His heart bled in anguish the wrongs of the poors. 
To relieve their hard sufferings he brav’d every danger,. 
The vengeance of tyrants undauntedly bore. 
E’en before him the proud titled villains in power ; 
Were seen, though in ermine, in terror to cower; 
But alas! he is gone—he has fallen a young flower, 
They have murder’d my Emmet, my Emmet’s no more. 





* Daughter of Mr Curran, the celebrated Irish orator, 
to whom it was supposed Mr. Robert Emmet was en- 
gaged to be married. fa} . 


THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 45 


HAIL TO THE CHIEF.—By W. Scott. 


Hail to the Chief, who in triumph advances, 
Honour’d and blest be the evergreen pine ; 
Long may the tree in his banner that glances, 
Flourish the shelter and grace of our line. 
Heaven send it happy dew, 
Earth lend it sap anew ; 
Gaily to bourgeon, and broadly to grow ; 
While every highland glen, 
Sends our shout back agen, 
* Roderigh Vich Alpine Dhu, ho! ieroe !” 


Ours is no sapling chance-sown by the fountain, 
Blooming at Beltane, in winter to fade ; 
- When the whirlwind has stript every leaf on the moun- 
tain, 
The more shall Clan Alpine exult in her shade. 
Moor’d in the rifted rock, 
Proof to the tempest’s shock, 
Firmer he roots him, the ruder it blow : 
Menteith and Bredalbane, then, 
Echo his praise agen, 
“ Roderigh Vich Alpine Dhu, ho! ieroe !” 


Proudly our pibroch has thrill’d in Glen Fruin, 
And Banochar’s groans to our slogan replied, 
Glen Luss and Ross Dhu, they are smoking in ruin, 
And the best of Loch Lamond lie dead on our side. 
Widow and Saxon maid, 
Long shall lament our rade, 
Think of Clan Alpine with fear and with wo. 
Lenox and Levon Glen, 
Shake when they hear agen 
**Roderigh Vich Alpine Dhu, ho! ieroe!’* 


Row, vassals, row, for the pride of the Highlands ! 
Stretch to your oars for the evergreen pine! 
O! that the rose-bud that graces yon islands, 
Were wreath’d in a garland around him to twine. 
. O that some seedling gem, 
7 Worthy such noble stem, 


ye 


46 THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 


Honour’d and blest, in their shadow might grow ; 
Loud should Clan Alpine then, 
Ring through her deepmost glen, 

*.Roderigh Vich Alpine Dhu, ho! ieroe !” 





LOCHINVAR.—By Waiter Scott. 


© young Lochinvar is come out of the west, 
Through all the wide border his steed was the best-— 
And save his good broadsword he weapon had none, 
He rode all unarmed, and he rode all alone. 

So faithful in Love and so dauntless in War, 

There never was knight like the young Lochinvar. 


He staid not for brake, and he stopp’d not for stone, 
He swam the Eske river where ford there was none, 
But ere he alighted at Netherby gate, 

The bride had consented, the gallant came late. 

For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war, 

Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar. 


So boldly he enter’d the Netherby Hall, 

*Mong bridesmen, and kinsmen, and brothers and all; 
Then spoke the bride’s father, his hand on his sword, 
For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word,—- 
‘*O come ye in peace, here, or come ye in war, 

“Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar ?” 


‘*Tlong woo’d your daughter, my suit you denied ; 
‘Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide; 
**And now amI come, with this lost love of mine, 

** To tread but one measure, drink one cup of wine. 
‘There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by far, 
“That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar,” 


The bride kissed the goblet, the Knight took it up, 
He quaff’d off the wine, and he threw down the cup, 
She look’d down to blush, and she look’d up to sigh, 
With a smile on her lip, and a tearin her eye. 

He took her soft hand, ere her mother could bar; 

* Now tread we a measure,” said young Lochinvar. 


ee 
Ke 


y *, 
| 
© i 


‘THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 47 


So stately his form, and so lovely her face, 

That never a hall such a galliard did grace ; 

While her mother did fret, and her father did fume, 
And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume. 
And the bride maidens whisper’d “ Twere better by far, 
‘* To have match’d our fair cousin with young Lochinvar.” 


. One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear, 

When they reach’d the hall door, and the charger stood 
neat, 

So light to the croupe the fair lady he swung, 

So light to the saddle before her he sprung, 

“‘She’s won, we are gone, over bank, bush, and scaur, 

* They'll have fleet steeds that follow, quoth young 
Lochinvar.” 


There was mounting ’mong Gremes of the Netherby 
‘ clan; 

Fosters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they 

ran ; 

There was racing and chasing on Cannobie Lea, 

But the lost bride of Netherby ne’er did they see. 

So daring in love, and so dauntless in war, 

Have you e’er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar, 





TOM BOWLING.—By Dibdin. 


Here, a sheer hulk, lies poor Tom Bowling, 
The darling of our crew ; 

No more he’!l hear the tempest howling, 

* For death has broach’d him too; 

His form was of the manliest beauty, 
His heart was kind and soft ; 

Faithful below he did his duty, 
And now he’s gone aloft. 


Tom never from his word departed, 
His virtues were so rare ; 
His friends were many and true hearted, 
‘ His Poll was kind and fair. 
Ose 


48 


THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 


And then he’d sing so blithe and jolly, 
Ah! many’s the time, and oft! 

But mirth is turn’d to melancholy, 
For Tom is gone aloft. 


Yet shall poor Tom find pleasant weather, 

~ When He who all commands, 

Shall give, to call life’s crew together, 
The word to pipe all hands. 

Thus death, who kings and tars despatches, 
In vain Tom?’s life has doff’d, 

For though his body’s under hatches, 
His soul is gone aloft. 


eee 


MAJOR ANDRE’S SOLILOQUY. 


Return, enraptur’d hours, 
When Delia’s heart was mine, 
When she with wreaths of flowers, 
My temples did entwine. 
No jealousy nor care, 
Corroded in my breast, 
But visions light as air, 
Presided o’er my rest. 


Since I’m removed from state, 
And bid adieu to time, 

At my unhappy fate 
Let Delia not repine. 

But may the mighty Jove 
Crown her with happiness, 

This grant, ye powers above, 
And take my soul to bliss. 

Now nightly o’er my bed, 
No airy phantoms play, 

No flowrets deck my head, 
Each vernal holiday. 

Far, far, from the sad plain, 
The cruel Delia flies, 

While racked with jealous pain, 
Her wretched Andre dies, 


THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 49 


CONSTITUTION AND GUERRIERE. 
Tonr—* Landlady of France.” 


{t ofttimes has been told 
That the British sailors bold, 
@ould flog the tars of France so neat and handy O; 
But they never found their match, 
*Till the Yankees did them catch, 
Qh! the Yankee boys for fighting are the dandy O. 


The Guerriere, a frigate bold, 
On the foaming ocean roll’d, 
@ommanded by proud Dacres, the grandee 0; 
With choice of British crew, 
As arammer ever drew, 
They could flog the Frenchmen two to one so handy 0. 


When this frigate hove in view, 
Says proud Dacres to his crew, 
Come clear the ship for action and be handy 0; 
To the weathergage boys get her, 
And to make his men fight better, 
Gave them to drink, gunpowder, mixed with brandy 0. 


Then Dacres loudly cries, 
Make this Yankee ship your prize, 
You can in thirty minutes, neat and handy 0; 
Thirty-five’s enough I’m sure, 
And if you’ll do it ina score, 
Pll treat you to a double share of brandy O. 


The British shot flew hot, 
Which the Yankees answered not, 
*Till they got within the distance they call’d handy Q ; 
Now, says Hull unto his crew, 
Boys, let’s see what we can do, 
If we take this boasting Briton we’re the dandy O. 


The first broadside we pour’d, 
Carried their main-mast by the board, 
Which made this ma frigate look abandon’d O; 
Then Dacres shook his head, 
And to his officers he said, 
J I didn’t think these Yankees were so handy 0. 


50 THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 


Our second told so well, 
That their fore and mizen fell, 
Which dous’d the royal ensign so handy O ; 
By George, says he, we’re done, 
And they fired a lee gun, 
While the Yankees struck up Yankee doodle dandy O. 


Then Dacres came on board, 
To deliver up his sword, 
Loth was he to part with it, it wasso handy 0; 
Oh, keep your sword, says Hull, 
For it only makes you dull, 
So cheer up, come, let us take a little brandy O. 
Come fill your glasses full, 
And we’li drink to Captain Hull, 
And so merrily we’ll push about the brandy O; 
~ John Bull may toast his fill, 
Let the world say what they will, 
But the Yankee boys for fighting are the dandy O. 





THE SOLDIER’S ADIEU.—Dibdin. 


Adieu, adieu, my only life, 

My honour calls me from thee, 
Remember thou’rt a soldier’s wife, 

Those tears but ill become thee ; 

What though by duty I am call’d, 

Where thund’ring cannons rattle, 
Where valour’s self might stand appall’d, 
Where valour’s self might stand appall’d, 

When on the wings of thy dear love, 

To heav’n above 
Thy fervent orisons are flown, 

The tender pray’r thou puttest up there. 
Shall call a guardian angel down, 

Shall call a guardian angel down, 

To watch me in the battle. 

My safety thy fair truth shall be, 

As sword and buckler serving, 

My life shall be more dear to me, 

Because of thy preserving: 


& 
THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 51 


Let peril come, let horror threat, 
Let thundering cannons rattle, 

I fearless seek the conflict’s heat; 
Assured when on the wings of love, 
To heav’n above, &c. 


Enough, with that benignant smile 
Some kindred god inspired thee, 

Who saw thy bosom void of guile, 
Who wondered, and admired thee: 
I go assured, my life, adieu, . 

Though thundering cannons rattle, } 
Though murdering carnage stalk in view, 
When on the wings of thy true love, 

To heav’n above, &c. 





THE POST CAPTAIN.—By Dubdin. 


When Steerwell heard me first impart 
Our brave commander’s story, 
With ardent zeal, his youthful heart, 
Swell’d high for naval glory ; 
Resolved to gain a valiant name, 
For bold adventure eager, 
When first a little cabin boy on board the Fame, 
He would hold on the jigger, 
While ten jolly tars, with musical Joe, 
Hove the anchor a-peak, singing, yeo, heave yeo. 


To hand top-gan’t sails next he learnt, 
With quickness, care and spirit, 

Whose generous master soon discern’d, 
And priz’d his dawning merit: 

He taught him soon to reef and steer, 
When storms convuls’d the ocean, 

Where shoals made skilful vet’rans fear, 
Which mark’d him for promotion. 

For none to the pilot e’er answer’d like he, 

When he gave the command, “ Hard a-port, helm’s-a- 

lee.” 


52 THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 


For valour, skill and worth renown’d, 
The foe he oft defeated, 

And now with fame and fortune crown’d, 
Post-captain he is rated: 

Who, should our injur’d country bleed, 
Still boldly he’d defend her— 

When blest with peace, if beauty plead, 
He’ll prove his heart is tender. 

Unaw'd yet mild, to high and low, 

To poor and wealthy, friend or foe— 
Wounded tars share his wealth, 
All the fleet drink his health— 

Priz’d be such hearts, for aloft they must go, 

Who always are ready compassion to show 
To a brave conquer’d foe. 





HIGHLAND MARY.—By R. Burns. 


Ye banks, and braes, and streams around 
The castle of Montgomery, 

Green be your woods, and fair your flowers, 
Your waters never drumlie; 

There simmer first unfaulds her robes, 
And there they langest tarry ; 

For there I took the last farewell 
Of my dear Highland Mary. 


How sweetly bloomed the gay green birk, 
How rich the hawthorn’s blossom ; 
As underneath her fragrant shade 
I clasp’d her to my bosom! 
The golden hours on angel wings, 
Flew o’er me and my dearie ; 
For dear to me as light and life, 
Was my sweet Highland Mary. 


Wi’ mony a vow, and lock’d embrace, 
Our parting was fu’ tender ; 
- And pledging aft to meet again, 
We tore ourselves asunder. 


THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 53 


But, O! fell death’s untimely frost, 
That nipt my flower sae early ; 

Now green’s the sod, and cauld’s the clay, 
That wraps my Highland Mary. 


© pale, pale now those rosy lips, 
I oft hae kiss’d sae fondly ; 

And clos’d for ay the sparkling glance 
That dwelt on me sae kindly! 

And mouldering now in silent dust 
That heart that lo’ed me dearly ; 

But still within my bosom’s core 
Shall live my Highland Mary. 





WIFE, CHILDREN, AND FRIENDS.—By Spencer. 


Tune— Humours of Glen.’ 


When the black letter’d list to the gods was presented, 
The list of what fate for each mortal intends, 
At the long string of ills a kind goddess relented ; 
And slipp’d in three blessings, wife, children, and 
friends. 


In vain surly Pluto declared he was cheated, 
And justice divine could not compass her ends, 
The scheme of man’s penance he swore was defeated, 
For earth becomes heaven with wife, children, and 
friends. 
If the stock of our bliss is in stranger hands rested, 
The fund, ill secured, oft in bankruptcy ends, 
But the heart issues bills, which are never protested, 
When drawn on the firm of—zfe, children, and 
friends. 


ed 
The soldier, whose deeds live immortal in story, 
When duty to far distant latitudes sends, 
With transport would barter whole ages of glory 
For one happy hour with wife, children, and friends. 


Though valour still glows in his life’s waning embers, 
The death-wounded tar, who his colours defends, 


54 THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 


Drops a tear of regret, as he dying remembers, 
How blest was his home, with wife, children, ané 
Jreends. 


Though the spice-breathing gale, o’er his caravan hovers, 
Though around him Arabia's whole fragrance de- 
scends, 
The merchant still thinks of the woodbine that covers 
The bower where he sat with wife, children, and friends. 


_ The day-spring of youth, still unclouded with sorrow, 
Alone on itself for enjoyment depends, 
But drear is the twilight of age if it borrow ; 
No warmth from the smiles of wife, children, and 
friends. 


Let the breath of renown ever freshen and nourish 
The laurel that o’er her fair favourites bends, 

O’er me wave the willow, and long may it flourish, 
Bedew’d with the tears of wife, children, and friends. 


Let us drink, for my song growing graver and graver, 
To subjects too solemn insensibly tends; 
Let us drink, pledge me high, love and virtue shall fla- 
_ your 
‘The glass that we fill to wife, children, and friends. 





” 


PADDY CAREY’S FORTUNE, OR, IRISH PROMO- 
TION. 


*Twas at the town of nate Clogheen 
That Sergeant Snap met Paddy Carey, 
A claner boy was never seen, 
Brisk as a bee, light as a fairy§ 
His brawny shoulders four feet square, 
His cheeks like thumping red potatoes, 
His legs would make a chairman stare, 
And Pat was lov’d by all the ladies, 
Old and young, grave or sad, 
Deaf and dumb, dull or mad, - 


THE WESTERN SONGSTER. $9 


Waddling, twaddling, limping, squinting, f 
Light, brisk ed ey ote . bis 
All the sweet faces at Limerick races, 
From Mullinavat to Magherafelt, 
At Paddy’s beautiful name would melt! 
And sowls would cry, 
And look so shy, 
Cgh! Cushlamachree, did you never see, 
The jolly boy, the darling joy, the ladies’ toy! 
Nimble-footed, black-ey’d, rosy-cheek’d, 
Curly-headed Paddy Carey! 
Ogh, sweet Paddy, beautiful Paddy, nate little, tight lit- 
tle Paddy Carey. 


His heart was made of Irish oak, 

Yet soft as streams from sweet Killarney, 
His tongue was tipt with a bit of the brogue, 
But the deuce a bit at all of the blarney ! 

Now sergeant Snap, so sly and keen, 
While Pat was coaxing duck-lege’d Mary, 
A shilling slipt so neat and clean, 

By the powers he listed Paddy Carey! 
Tight and sound, strong and light, 
Cheeks so round, eyes so bright, 

Whistling, humming, drinking, drumming, 
Light, tight and airy. 

All the sweet faces, &c. 

The sowls wept loud, the crowd was great, 

When waddling forth came widow Leary, 

Tho’ she was crippled in her gait, 
Her brawny arms clasp’d Paddy Carey ; 
Ogh! Pat, she cried, go buy the ring, 
Here’s cash galore my darling honey, 
Says Pat, you sow], I’ll do that thing, 

And clapt his thumb upon her money! 

Gimlet eye, sausage nose, 
Pat so sly, ogle throws, 
Leering, titt’ring, jeering, fritt’ring, 
Sweet widow Leary. 
All the sweet faces, &c. 
Lh 


- 


. 


56 . THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 


When Pat had thus his fortune made, 
‘He press’d the lips of mistress Leary, 
And mounting straight a large cockade, 
In captain’s boots struts Paddy Carey ! 
He grateful prais’d her shape, her back, 
’ To others like a dromedary ; 
Her eyes, that seem’d their strings to crack, 
Were Cupid’s darts to Captain Carey! 
Neat and sweet—no alloy, 
All complete—love and joy, 
Ranting, roaring, soft, adoring, 
Dear widow Leary! 
All the sweet faces at Limerick races, 
From Mullinavat to Magherafeit, 
At Paddy’s promotion sigh and melt; =< 
The sowls all cry, as the groom struts by, 
“ Ogh, Cushlamachree, thou art lost to mé Vag 
The jolly boy! the darling boy! 4 
The ladies’ toy! the widow’s joy ! 
Long sword girted—neat short skirted—head cropt— 
; whisker chopp’d, captain Carey ! 
O! sweet Paddy! — 
Beautiful Paddy ! 
White feather’d—boot leather’d—Paddy Carey 









Bae 
Mot 

Xe re 
LIBERTY TREE.—By Thomas Payne. 


In a chariot of light from the regions of day, 
The goddess of Liberty came; 

Ten thousand celestials directed the way, 
And hither conducted the dame. 

A fair budding branch from the gardens above, 
Where millions with millions agree, 

She brought in her hand as a pledge of her love, 
And the plant she nam’d Liberty Tree. 





The Celestial exotic struck deep in the ground, 
Like a native it flourish’d and bore; 
The fame of its fruit drew the nations around, 
To seek out its peaceable shore. 
7 


at aan 
ty - Sa 


THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 57 


Unmindful of names, or distinctions, they came, . 
For freemen like brothers agree ; 

With one spirit endued, they one friendship pursued, 
And their temple was Liberty Tree. 


Beneath this fair tree, like the satriarchs of old, 
Their bread in contentment hey eat, 

Unvex’d with the troubles of silver‘and gold, 
The cares of the grand and the great ; 

With timber and tar they old England supply’d 
And supported her power on the sea ; 

Her battles they fought without getting a groat, 
For the honour of Liberty Tree. 


But hear, O ye swains, (tis a tale most profane) 
yw all the tyrannical powers, 
mmons, and Lords, are uniting amain, 
cut down this guardian of ours : 
From the east to the west blow the trumpet to arms, 
Thro? the land let the sound of it flee; 
Let the far and the near all unite with a cheer, 
In defence of our Liberty Tree. 


44q 






a 
| MARYS DREAM.—By Lowe. 
_ The moon had climb’d the highest hill 
‘a Which rises o’er the source of Dee, 
‘a And from the eastern summit shed 
Her silver light on tower and tree; 
When Mary laid her down to sleep, 
Her thoughts on Sandy far at sea; 
When soft and low a voice she heard 
Say, Mary, weep no more for me. 


She from her pillow gently rais’d 
Her head, to ask who there might be; 
She saw young Sandy shivering stand, 
With pallid cheek and hollow eye! 
Oh! Mary, dear, cold is my clay, 
It lies beneath the stormy sea; 
Far, far from thee I sleep in death, 


So, Mary, weep no more for me, ene 


Be 


58 THE WESTERN SONGSTER: 


Three stormy nights and stormy days, 
We toss’d upon the raging main ; 
long we strove our bark to save, 
But all our striving was in vain ; 
E’en then, when horror chill’d my blood, 
My heart was fill’d with love for thee ; 
The storm is past, and I’m at rest, 
So, Mary, weep no more for me. 


O maiden dear, thyself prepare, 
We soon shall meet upon that shore, 
Where love is free from doubt and care, 
And thou and I shall part no more. 
Loud crew the cock, the shadow fled, 
No more of Sandy could she see; ; 
But soft the passing spirit said, ey . 
Sweet Mary, weep no more for me. ae “ 





PLATO. 


Says Plato, why should man be vain, 

Since bounteous heaven hath made him great ? 
Why look with insolent disdain, 

On those undeck’d with wealth or state ? 


Can splendid robes, or beds of down, ae 
Or costly gems that deck the fair, ane 

Can all the glories of a crown, 
Give health, or ease the brow of care? 8 


The scepter’d king, the burthen’d slave, 
The humble, and the haughty die ; 

The rich, the poor, the base, the brave, 
In dust without distinction lie. 

Go search the tombs where monarchs rest, 
Who once the greatest titles bore ; 

The wealth and glory they possess’d, 
And all their honours are no more. 


So glides the meteor through the sky, 

And spreads along a gilded train— 
But, when its short liv’d beauties die, 
Dissolyes to common air again. 






THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 359 


So ’tis with us, my jovial souls : : 
Let friendship reign while here we stay; 

Let’s crown our joys with flowing bowls, 
When Jove us calls we must obey. 





ALKNOMOOK.—By Wr, Hunter. 


The sun sets at night and the stars shun the day, 
But glory remains when the light fades away ; 

Begin, ye tormentors, your threats are in vain, 
For the son of Alknomook shall never complain. 


Remember the arrows he shot from his bow, 
Remember your chiefs by his hatchet laid low ; 

Why so slow! do you wait till I shrink from my pain? 
No—the son of Alknomook shall never complain. 


Remember the wood, where in ambush we lay, 

And the scalps which we bore from your nation away : 
Now the flame rises fast, you exult in my pain; 

But the son of Alknomook shall never complain, 


I go tothe land where my father is gone ; 
His ghost shall rejoice in the fame of his son ; 
death comes like a friend—he relieves me from pain ; 


‘ ap thy son, oh ! Alknomook, has scorn’d to cemplain, 










nah 
FRIENDSHIP. 

Friendship to every willing mind, 
Opens a heavenly treasure ; 

There may the sons of sorrow find, 
Sources of real pleasure. 

See what employments men pursue, 
Then you will own my words are true ; 

Friendship alone unfolds to view 
Sources of real pleasure. 


Poor are the joys which fools esteem, 
Fading and transitory ; 
D2 


’ 
_- ‘ 
f a 





60 





| he 
THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 


Mirth is as fleeting as a dream, 
Or a delusive story; 
Luxury leaves a sting behind, 
Wounding the body and the mind 
Only in friendship can we find 
Pleasure and solid glory. 


Beauty, with all its gaudy shows, 
Is but a painted bubble; 

Short is the triumph wit bestows, 
Full of deceit and trouble. 

Fame, like a shadow, flies away ; 
Titles and dignities decay ; 

Nothing but friendship can display, 
Joys that are free from trouble. 


Learning (that boasting, glittering thing) 
Scarcely is worth possessing ; 
Riches, for ever on the wing, 
Cannot be called a blessing. 
Sensual pleasures swell desire, 
Just as the fuel feeds the fire : 
Friendship can real bliss inspire, 
Bliss that is worth possessing. 


Happy the man who has a friend, 
Form’d by the God of nature ; 
Well may he feel and recommend - 
Friendship for his Creator. 
Then as our hands in friendship join, 
So let our social powers combine, 
Rul’d by a passion most divine, 
Friendship with our Creator. 





FROM THEE, ELIZA.—By R. Burns. 
From thee, Eliza, I must go, 
And from my native shore; 
The cruel fates between us threw | 
A boundless ocean’s roar; 


THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 61. 


But boundless oceans, roaring wide 
Between my love and me, 

They never, never can divide 
My heart and soul from thee. 


Farewell, farewell, Eliza dear, 
The maid that 1 adore ; 
A boding voice is in my ear, 
We part to meet no more ! 
But the last throb that leaves my heart, 
While death stands victor by, 
That throb, Eliza, is thy part, 
And thine that latest sigh ! 





THE DRUM. 


Come, each gallant lad, 
Who for pleasure quits care ; 
To the drum, drum, drum, &c. 
To the drum-head with spirit repair. 
Each recruiter takes his glass, 
And each young soldier with his lass, 
While the drum beats tattoo, while, &c. 
Retires the sweet night to pass. 
Each night gaily laid— 
Thus we’ll merrily waste, 
Till the drum, drum, drum, &c. 
Till the drum tells us ’tis past. 
Picquet arms at dawn now shine, 
And each drum ruffies down the line; 
Now the drum beats reveille, now, &c. 
Saluting the day divine. 


But hark; yonder shouts— 
See the standard now alarms, 

Now the drum, drum, drum &c. 
Now the drum beats loudly to arms, 

Kill’d and wounded, how they lie! 
Helter, skelter, see they fly, 

Now the drum beats retreat, now, &c, 


We'll fire a feu-de-joie. 





i £\n 
62) FHE WESTERN SONGSTER. 


THE ROVER’S CHOICE. _ 
Through city, town, and village, I every where have 
rov’d i 
A Martha and a Mary I every where have lov’d ; 
Now tired of variety, to marriage I’m inclined, 
Would fortune only grant me a partner to my mind. 
Then I’d gono more a roving, but constant as a dove, 
With such a lass, my days 1’d pass in harmony and love. 


2) 
I care not for complexion, she may be brown or fair, 
If she has but got discretion, and meaning in her air; 
Her shape I would have graceful, to pride and folly 
blind, 
The most § wish her to possess, is a cultivated mind. 
Then I’d go no more, &c. 


Vl court no wealthy fair one, because of her rich purse, 
Altho’ with that ingredient, I’d like her none the worse; 
Industry and contentment, gives happiness and health, 
If she possess those virtues rare, I’d prize them more 
-. than wealth, 

Then I’d go no more, &c. 


A sense of chaste decorum, should in her actions shine, 
And a temper condescending, that ne’er would ruffle 
mine; 
A cheerful disposition, but never vainly gay ; 
And sometimes an amusing song to pass the hour away. 
Then I’d go no more, &c. 


From slander and rude language her tongue I would 
have free, 

Wier house, her family, and herself, should neat and 
cleanly be; 

All trifling affectation her mind should be above, 

Truth and innocence should join with tenderness and 
love. ; 

Then I’d go no more, &c. 
With such a wife most freely my roving Wd resign, 


Then our hearts combined in mutual Jove, should taste 
of joys divine ; 


whe Fy 


~ 


THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 63 


.' s 
No monarch on his throne, could half so happy be, 
For home would be a paradise with such a girl as she. 
Then I’d go no more, &c. 





SANDY AND JENNIE.—By R. Burns. 


Come, come, bonnie Lassie, cried Sandy, awa, 

Whilst mither is spinning, and father’s afa’ ; Ps 
The folks are at work, and the bairns are at play, a 
And we will be married, dear Jenny, to-day. 3 


Stay, stay, bonnie Laddie, then cried I with speed, 
I wo’na, I ma’na, go with you indeed ; 

Besides should I do so, what would the folks say, 
So we canna marry, dear Sandy, to-day. 

List, list, bonny Lassie, and mind what you do, 
For Peggy and Patty I give up for you; 

Besides, a full twelvemonth we’ve trifled away, 
And one or the other I’Il marry to-day, 


Fie, fie, bonny Laddie, then cried I again, 

For Peggy you kiss’d t’other day on the plain ; 
Besides a new ribbon does Patty display, 

And we canna marry, dear Sandy, to-day. 


O, then, a good-by, bonnie Lassie, cried he, 
i Peggy and Patty are waiting for me; 

he kirk is hard by, and the bell calls away, 
And Peggy or Patty I'll marry to-day. 
Stay, stay, bonnie Laddie, cried I with a smile, 
For know I was jesting, indeed, all the while; 
Let Peggy go spin, and send Patty away, 
And we will be married, dear Sandy, to-day 





JOHN ANDERSON MY JO.—By R&. Burns. : 


John Anderson my Jo, John, 
When nature first began 
To try her canny hand, John, 

Her master work was man ; 


64a 


_ THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 


And you aboon them a’ John, 
So trig from top to toe, 
She prov’d to be no journey-work, 
John Anderson my Jo. 
And you aboon them a’, &c. » 
John Anderson my Jo, John, © 


When first we were acquaint, | a 
Your locks were like the sloe, John, 

Your bonny brow was brent; 
But now your brow is bald, John,’ 

Your locks are like the snow, 
Yet blessings on your frosty pow, 

John Anderson my Jo. 

But now your brow, &c. 


John Anderson my Jo, John, 
What pleasure ’tis to see 
The young, the lively brood, John, 
Bred up ’twixt you and me. 
And ilka lad and lass, John, 
In our footsteps to go, 
Sure makes a heaven here on earth, 
John Anderson my Jo. 
And ilka lad and lass, &e. 


John Anderson my Jo, John, 
Fates up and down we’ve kent, 
Yet aye whate’er our lot, John, 
We with it were content; 
And that’s the best of gear, John, 
It frae us ne’er can go, 
Tho’ goud be scant, love, we'll ne’er want, 
John Anderson my Jo. 
And that’s the best of gear, &c. 


John Anderson my Jo, John, 
Life’s hill we clam thegither, 

And mony a canty day, John, 
We’ve had wi’ ane anither; 

But now we’re tott’ring down, John, 
So hand in hand we go, 


THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 65 


And we’ll sleep thegither at the fit, 
John Anderson my Jo. 
But now we’re tott’ring down, &c. 


John Anderson my Jo, John, 
When we again awake, 
ur bairns we will collect, John, 
then our journey take; 
_ For hearts devoid of guile, John, 
_ Find friends where’er they go, 
And seraphs bright shall guide us right, 
John Anderson my Jo. 
For hearts devoid of guile, &ei 









BONNY DOUN.—By &. Burns, 


Ye banks and braes of bonny Doun, 

How can ye bloom sa fresh and fair? 

How can ye chaunt, ye little birds, 

While I’m so wae and full o’ care? 

Ye’ll break my heart, ye little birds, 

That wander through that flow’ring thorn ; 
Ye mind me of departed joys, 

Departed, never to return. 


Oft have I roam’d by bonny Doun, 
To see the rose and woodbine twine, 
Where ilka bird sung o’er its note, 
And cheerfully I join’d with mine. 
Wr heartsome glee I pu’d a rose, 

A rose out of yon thorny tree; 

But my false love has flown the rose, 
And left the thorn behind to me. 


Ye roses blaw your bonny blooms, 
And draw the wild birds by the burn; 
For Luman promis’d me a ring, 

And ye maun aid me should I mourn. 
Ah! na, na, na, ye need na mourn, 
My een are dim and drowsy worn; 
Ye bonny birds, ye need na sing, 

For Luman never can return. 


66 THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 


& 
My Luman’s love, in broken sighs, 
At dawn of day by Doun ye’se hear; 
And mid-day, by the willow green, 
For him I’d shed a silent. tear. 
Sweet birds, I ken ye’ll pity me, 
And join me wi’ a plaintive sang, 
While echo wakes, and joins the mane 
I make for him I looed sae lang. 





BELIEVE ME.—By T. Moore. 


Believe me, if all those’endearing young charms, 
Which I gaze.on so fondly to-day, 

Were to change by to-morrow, and fleet in my arms, 
Like fairy gifts fading away; 

Thou wouldst still be ador’d, as this moment thou art, 
Let thy loveliness fade as it will, 

And around the dear ruin each wish of my heart, 
Would entwine itself verdantly still. 


it is not while beauty and youth are thy own, 
And thy cheeks unprofan’d by a tear, 

That the fervour and faith of a soul can be known, 
To which time will but make thee more dear. 

Oh! the heart that has truly lov’d, never forgets, 
But as truly loves en to the close ; 

As the sunflower turns on her god, when he sets, 
The same look which she turn’d when he rose! 





MY ONLY JO AND DEARIE 0.—By &. Burns. 


Thy cheek is o’ the rose’s hue, 
My only Jo and dearie O, 
Thy neck is like the siller dew, 
Upon the bank sae brierie O. 
Thy teeth are o’ the ivory, 
O sweet’s the twinkle o’ thine ee’ 
Nae joy, nae pleasure, blinks on me, 
My only Jo and deari¢ O. 


| THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 67 


The birdie sings upon the thorn, 
Its sang o” joy, fu’ cheerie O, 

. Rejoicing in the simmer morn, 
Nae care to mak it eerie O; _ 
But little kens the yee sweet, 

Aught o’ the care I hae to meet, 
That gars my restless bosom beat, 
My only Jo and dearie O. 


When we were bairnies on yon brae, 
And youth was blinkin bonnie O, 
Aft we wad daff the lelang day, 
Our joy fu’ sweet and munie O. 
Aft I wad chase thee o’er the lea, 
And round about the thornie tree, 
Or pu’ the wild flow’rs a’ for thee, 
My only Jo and dearie O. 


khaea wish I canna tine, 
*Mang a’ the cares that grieve me Q, 
A wish that thou wert ever mine, 
And never mair to leave me O; 
‘Then I wad daut thee night and day, 
Nor ither war’ly care wad hae, 
Fill life’s warm stream forgat to play, 
My only Jo and dearie O. 





LASSIE WY THE LINT-WHITE LOCKS.—A, Burns. 


Lassie wi’ the lint-white locks, 
Bonnie lassie, artless lassie ! 
Wilt thou wi’ me tent the flocks, 
Wilt thou be my dearie O? 
Now nature cleeds the flow’ry lea, 
And a’ is young and sweet like thee, 
© wilt thou share its joys wi’ me, 
And say thou’lt be my dearie O. 
Lassie wi’ the lint-white locks, 
Bonnie lassie, artless lassie! 
Wilt thou wi’ me tent the flocks, 
Wilt thou be my dearie O? 
ie Ez ; 


68 THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 


And when the welcome summer show’r 

fas cheer’d ilk drooping little flow’r, . 

We'll to the breathing woodbine bow’r, 
At sultry noon, my dearie O. 


Lassie wi’ the lint-white locks, 
Bonnie lassie, artless lassie ! 

Wilt thou wi’ me tent the flocks, 

Wilt thou be my dearie O? 

When Cynthia lights wi’ silver ray, 

The weary shearer’s hameward way, 

Thro yellow, waving fields we'll stray, 

And talk of love, my dearie O. 


Lassie wi’ the lint-white locks, 
Bonnie lassie, artless lassie ! 
Wilt thou wi’ me tent the flocks, 
Wilt thou be my dearie O ? 
And when the howling, wintry blast, 
Disturbs my lassie’s midnight rest, 
Enclasped to my faithful breast, 
V’)l comfort thee, my desrie O. 





THE THORN.— By T. Moore. 


From the white blossom’d sloe my dear Chloe s@quested; 
A sprig her fair breast to adorn; 

No, by heav’ns, I exclaim’d, may I perish, 
if ever I plant in that bosom a thorn. 

Then I show’d her a ring, and implored her to marry, 
She blush’d like the dawning of morn ; 

“Yes, I'll consent,” she replied, - 
“If you’ll promise that no jealous rival shall laugh me 

-to scorn.” 

No, by heavens, I exclaim’d, may I perish, 

If ever I plant in that bosom a thorn. 





THE BLUE BELL OF SCOTLAND.—By Mrs. Grant. 


Oh where, tell me where, is your Highland laddie gone? 
Oh where, tell me where, is your Highland laddie zone ? 


THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 69 


He’s gone with streaming banners where noble deeds 
are done, 

‘And my sad heart will tremble, ’till he comes safely 
home; 

He’s gone with streaming banners where noble deeds 
are done, 

And my sad heart will tremble, till he comes safely 
home ; 


O where, tell me where, did your Highland 1 laddie stay ? 
O where, tell me where did your Highland laddie stay? _ 
He dwelt beneath the holly-tree, beside the rapid Spey, 
And many a blessing followed him the day he went 
away ; 
He dwelt beneath the holly-tree beside the rapid Spey, 
And many a blessing follow’d him the day he went 
away. ! 


Oh what, tell me what, does your Highland laddie wear? 

Oh, what, tell me what, does your Highland laddie wear? 

A bonnet with a lofty plume, the gallant badge of war, 

And a plaid across the manly breast that yet shall wear 
4 star; 

A bonnet with a lofty plume, the gallant badge of war, 

And a plaid across the manly breast that yet shall wear 
a star. 


Suppose, ah! suppose that some cruel wound 

Should pierce your Highland laddie, and all your hopes 
confound ¢ 

The pipe would play a cheering march, the banners 
round him fly, 

The spirit of a Highland chief would lighten in his eye ; 

The pipe would play a cheering march, the banners 
round him fly, 

And for his king and country dear, with pleasure he 
would die. 

But I will hope to see him yet in Scotland’s bonny 
bounds, 

But | will hope to see him yet in Scotland’s bonny 
bounds, 


1 Bon 


70 THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 


His native land of liberty shall nurse his glorious wounds, 

While wide through all our Highland hills his warlike 
name resounds ;° ! 

His native land of liberty shall nurse his glorious wounds, 

While wide through all our Highland hills his warlike 
name resounds. a Cae 


a 


ONE BOTTLE MORE. 


Assist me, ye lads, who have hearts void of guile, 
Yo sing in praises of old Ireland’s isle, 

Where true hospitality opens the door, 

And friendship detains us for one bottle more : 
One bottle more, arrah, one bottle more, 

And friendship detains us for one bottle more. 


Old England, your taunts on our country forbear ; 

With our bulls and our brogues we are true and sincere ; 

For if but one bottle remains in our store, 

We have generous hearts to give that bottle more. 
"That bottle more, &c. | 


At Candy’s, in Church-street, I’ll sing of a set, 

Of six Irish blades who together had met: 

Four bottles a-piece made us call for a score; 

And nothing remained but one bottle more. 
One bottle more, &c. 


Our bill being paid, we were loth to depart, 
For friendship had grappled each man by the heart, 
Where the least touch, you know, makes an Irishman 
roar, : ur 
And the whack from shilelah brought six bottles more. 
Six bottles more, &c. 


Slow Phoebus had shone through our window so bright, 

Quite happy to view his blest children of light: 

So we parted with hearts neither sorry nor gore, 

Resolving next night to drink twelve bottles more. 
Twelve bottles more, &c._ 


UHE WESTERN SONGSTER. > as 


BEGONE DULL CARE. 


Begone, dull care, I pray thee begone from me; 
Begone, dull care, thou and I shall never agree ; _ 
Long time thou hast been tarrying here, 
And fain thou wouldst me kill; 
But, Pfaith, dull care, 
Thou never shalt have thy will. 


‘Too much care will make a young man look grey ; 
And too much care will turn an old man into clay ; 
My wife shall dance and I will sing, 
So merrily pass the day ; 
For [hold it one of the wisest things, 
To drive dull care away, 





THE MAID OF ERIN. 


My thoughts delight to wander, 
Upon a distant shore ; 

Where lovely, fair and tender, 
Is she whom I adore. 

May Heaven its blessings sparing, 
On her bestow them free, 

The lovely maid of Erin, . 
Who sweetly sang to me. 


Had fortune fix’d my station, 

In some propitious hour, 
The monarch of a nation, 

Endow’d with wealth and power ; 
That wealth and power sharing, 
_ My peerless queen should be, 
The lovely maid of Erin, 

Who sweetly sang to me. 


Although the restless ocean, 
May long between us roar, 
’ Yet while my heart has motion, 
She’ll lodge within its core ; 
- E 2 


ea 


ty THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 


For artless and endearing, 

'_ And mild and young is she, 

The lovely maid of Erin, 
Who sweetly sang to me. 


When fate gives intimation, 
That ai st hour is nigh, 
With placid resignation, 

I’ll lay me down and die ; 
Fond hope my bosom cheering, 
That lin Heaven shall see, 

The lovely.maid of Erin, 
Whosweetly sang to me. 





THE ROSE.—By T. Moore. 


To a shady retreat fair Eliza I trac’d, 
Sweet flowers spread their fragrance around, 


- She pluck’d from its bed a fond rose, and she plac’d 


In her bosom this flower, her fair image to grace :+~ 
She goddess of love might be crown’d. 


1 softly approach’d, and the rose thus address’d : 
Thou sweetest of flowers that blows, 

How envied thy lot, above mortals how blest, 

Art thou thus on beauty’s bosom caress’d, 
Would fate had decreed me a rose! 





THE GALLEY SLAVE. 


_ O think on my fate, once I freedom enjoy’d, 


Was as happy as happy could be, 

But pleasure is fled, even hope is destroy’d, 
A captive, alas! on the sea: 

T was ta’en by the foe, ’twas the fiat of fate, 
To tear me from her I adore, 

When thought brings to mind my once happy state, 
I sigh, OL sigh, as I tug at the oar, 


Hard, hard is my fate, Oh! how galling my chaip, 
My life’s steer’d by misery’s chart, 

And though ’gainst my tyrants I scorn to complain, 
Tears gush forth to ease my sad heart; 


THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 73 


_ disdain e’en to shrink though I feel the sharp lash, 
Yet my heart bleeds for her I adore, 

While around me the unfeeling billows will dash, 
I sigh and still tug at the oar. 


How fortune deceives! I had pleasure in tow, 
The port where she dwelt we’d in view; 

But the wish’d nuptial morn was o’erclouded with we, 
And dear Anna, [ was hurried from you. 

Our shallop was boarded and I borne away, 
To behold my dear Anna no more ; 

But despair wastes my spirits, my form feels decay— 
He sigh’d, and expired at the oar. 





OH! WHY SHOULD THE GIRL, &c.—By T. Moore. 


Oh! why should the girl of my soul be in tears, 
At a meeting of rapture like this, 

When the gloom of the past and the sorrows of years, 
Have been paid by the moment of bliss ? 


Are they shed for that moment of blissful delight, 
Which dwells on her memory yet ? 

Do they flow like the dews of the love breathing night, 
From the warmth of the sun that has set ? 


Oh! sweet is the tear on that languishing smile, 
That smile which is loveliest then; 

Andif such are the drops that delight can beguile, 
Thou shalt weep them againand again. 





THE WILLOW. _ 


© take me to your arms, my love, for keen the wind 
doth blow ; 

’ Otake me to thy arms, my love, for bitter is my wo; 

She hears me not, she cares not, nor will she list to me, 

And here I lie in misery, beneath the willow tree. 
Willow, willow, willow, beneath the willow tree. 


My love has wealth and beauty, the rich attend her door; 
My love has wealth and beauty, and J, alas! ama poor ; 


7a; ' THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 


The riband fair, that bound her hair, is. all that’s left to me, 

While here Ff lie in misery, beneath the willow tree. 
Willow, &c. 

1 once had gold and silver, f thought them without end; 

I once had gold and silver, and I thought I had a friend ; 

My wealth is lost, my friend is false, my love he stole. 


from me, 
And here I lie in misery, beneath the willow tree. 
Willow, &c. 


‘ 


cece 


LITTLE SUE. 


The shepherds call mé little Sue, 
That sports and frolics round ; 
Though rustic pleasures I pursue, 
Content with me is found; 
They talk of love, and call me fair, 
And woo, as lovers woo; 
I tell the swains he must be rare 
Who marries little Sue— 
Orare! O rare! he must be rare 
Who marries little Sue. 


The youth who would my bosom move, 
‘Must be what I declare ; 
His actions, not his words, must prove, 
That Vm his only care : 
My love must have good sense refin’d, 
Have wit and humour too; 
The youth be gentle, brave and kind, 
Who marries little Sue— 
O rare! Orare! he must be rare 
Who marries little Sue— 
O rare! O rare! he must be rare 
Who marries little Sue. 


The youth that’s form’d for love and me, 
Must ne’er ambitious prove; 

Must ne’er find fault, tho’ some should See, 
But all be peace and love ; 


EME WESTERN SONGSTER. Wee 


Yo merit such a noble youth, I’d every art pursue, 
He’ll hold my heart, my mind, my truth, 
Who marries little Suave 
O rare! Orare! he must be rare 
Who marries little Sue— 
© rare! Orare! he must be rare 
_ Whe marries little Sue. 





fHE GLASSES SPARKLE ON THE oe apes 
By Capi. Morris. 


The glasses sparkle on the board, 
The wine is ruby bright, 
The reign of pleasure is restor’d, 
Of ease and gay delight ; 
The day is gone, the night’ s our OWN, 
Then let us feast the soul, 
If any pain or care remain, 
Why drown it in the bowl, 
Why drown it in the bowl; 
If any pain or care remain, 
Why drown it in the bowl. 


This world, they say ’s a world of we, 
But that I do deny ; 

an sorrow from the goblet flow. 
Or pain from beauty’s eye? . 

The wise are fools, with ail their rules, 
When they would joy control ; 

If life’s a pain, I say again, 
Let’s drown it in the bowl. 


‘That time flies fast, the poet sings, 
Then surely it is wise, 
In rosy wine to dip his wings, 
And seize him as he flies ; 
This night is ours, then strew with flowers, 
The moments as they roll, 
if any pain or care remain, 
Why drown it in the bowl. 


- 


76 THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 


THE BANKS OF THE DEE.—By Home. 


*Twas Summer, and softly the breezes were blowing, 
And sweetly the nightingale sung from the tree ; 
At the foot ofa rock where a river is flowing, 
I sat myself down on the banks of the Dee. 


Flow on, lovely Dee, fiow on thou sweet river, 
Thy bank’s purest stream shall be dear to me ever; 
For there I first gain’d the affection and favour 
Of Jamie, the glory and pride of the Dee. 
But now he’s gone from me, and left me thus mourning, 
To fight for his country—for valiant is he ; 
And ah! there’s no hope of his speedy returning, 
To wander again on the banks of the Dee. 
Ne’s gone, hapless youth, o’er the loud roaring billows, 
The kindest and sweetest of all the gay fellows, 
And left me to stray ’mongst the once loved willows, 
‘The loneliest maid on the banks of the Dee. 


But time and my prayers may perhaps yet restore him, 
Blest peace may restore my dear shepherd to me; 
And when he returns, with such care Vil watch o’er him, 
He never shall leave the sweet banks of the Dee. 
The Dee then shall flow, all its beauties displaying ; 

The lamb on its banks shall again be seen playing ; 
While I with my Jamie am carelessly straying, 
And tasting again all the sweets of the Dee. 


* 





MARY, I BELIEW’D THEE TRUE.— By T', Moore. 


Mary, I believ’d thee true, 
And I was blest in thus believing; 
But now I mourn that e’er 1 knew 
A girl so fair, and so deceiving. 
How few have ever lov’d like me, 
_ Oh! Thave lov’d thee too sincerely ! 
And few have e’er deceiv’d like thee, 
Alas, deceiv’d me too severely! 


THE WESTERN SONGSTER. rid 


Fare thee well, yet think awhile 

On one whose bosom bleeds to doubt thee! 
Who now would rather trust that smile, 

And die with thee, than live without thee! 


Fare thee well, I’ll think of thee, 
Thou leav’st me many a bitter token! 
For see, distracting woman! see, 
My peace is gone, my heart is broken! 
Fare thee well, &c. 
ALL’S WELL.—By Diddin. 
Deserted by the waning moon, 
When skies proclaim night’s cheerless noon, 
On tower, fort, or tented ground, 
The-sentry walks his lonely round, 
The sentry walks his lonely round, 
The sentry walks, &c. 


And should a footstep haply stray, 
Where caution marks the guarded way, 
Where caution marks the guarded way, 
The guarded way. 
Who goes there? Stranger—quickly tell! 
A friend—the word—good night, 
All’s well! all’s well! 
The word—good night—all’s well. 


Or sailing on the midnight deep, 
While weary messmates soundly sleep, 
The careful watch patroles the deck, 
To guard the ship from foes or wreck, 
To guard the ship from foes or wreck, 
To guard the ship, &c. 
And while his thoughts oft homeward veer, 
Some friendly voice salutes his ear, 
Some friendly voice salutes his ear, 
Salutes his ear— 
What cheer, brother? quickly tell! 
Above—below—good night ; 
All’s well! all’s well! 
Aboye—below—all, all’s well, 


78 


1 


THE WESTERN SONGSFER. 


ROBIN ADAIR.—By Braham. 


' What’s this dull town to me? 


Robin’s not near; 

What was’t I wish’d to see ? 

What wish’d to hear ? 
Where’s all the joy and mirth 
Made this town a heaven on earth : 
Oh! they’re all fled with thee, 

Robin Adair. 


What made th’ assembly shine ? 
Robin Adair. 

What made the ball so fine? 
Robin was there. 

What,—when the play was o’er, 

What made my heart so sore? 

Oh! it was parting with , 
Robin Adair. 

But now thou’rt cold to me, 
Robin Adair. 

But now thou’rt cold to me, 
Robin Adair... 

Yet he I loved so well 

Still in my heart shall dwell. 

Ob! I can ne’er forget 
Robin Adair. 


TELL HER PLL LOVE HER, 


‘Vell her I'll love her while the clouds drop rain, 
Or while there’s water in the pathless main : 
Tell her Pll love her till this life is o’er, 

And then my ghost shall visit this sweet shore; 
Tell her I only ask she’ll think of me— 

Ill love her while there’s salt within the sea. 

. Tell her all this, tell it o’er and o’er, 

Vll love her while there’s salt within the sea. 
Tell her all this, tell it o’er and o’er— 5 

_ The anchor’s weigh’d, or I would tell her mere! 


THE WESTERN SONGSTER. | 79 


WHAT’S THE MATTER NOW? 


My seventeenth year scarce over 
Blithe Damon wooing came, 
A young and tender lover, 
He owned his ardent flame. 
Such a piteous tale he told me 
Of his poor wounded heart ; 
Twas heav’n to behold me, 
But death if we must part. 
Oh, dear! oh, dear! oh, dear! 
My heart it beat so strangely, . 
I felt I can’t tell how; 
Lord, Lord, thinks I, what ails me? 
Ah! what’s the matter now ¢ 


The question soon was answer’d— 
Sly Cupid’s dart was thrown; 
I lov’d as well as Damon ; 
But that I would not own: 
For if he talked of dying, 
Or mourn’d his hapless case, 
1 seldom fail’d replying, 
By laughing in his face ; 
Oh, dear! oh, dear! oh, dear! 
At length, his patience failing, 
He proudly swore he’d go ; 
Not yet, said I, half smiling— 
Why, what’s the matter now ? 


He slily seiz’d that moment, 
To press me to be his ; 
And how it was I know not, 
I thoughtless answered “ yes.” 
Oh, then, when first we married, 
How easily I reign’d; 
If check’d, my point I carried, 
By sobs and tears well feign’d ; 
Qh, dear! oh, dear! oh, dear ! 
r 


- 


30 THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 


The poor good soul was melted, 
Not proof against my wo, 
And coaxingly consented, 
With what’s the matter now ? 


Alas ! these times are over, 

And I have had my day ; 
No more a doating lover, 

He swears he’ll have his way : 
To all entreaties callous, 

Whole days from me he’ll roam, 
Get tipsy at the alehouse, 

And then come staggering home ; 
Oh, dear! oh, dear! oh, dear! 

If then I weep or chide him, 
With consequential brow, 

He sets his arms beside him, 

With “ what’s the matter now ?” 





BRUCE’S ADDRESS TO HIS ARMY.—By R. Burns.’ 


Scots, wha hae wi’? Wallace bled; 
Scotts, whom Bruce has often led; 
Welcome to your gory bed, 

Or to victory. 


Now’s the day, and now’s the hour; 

See the front of battle lour; 

See approach proud Edward’s power— - 
Chains and slavery ! 


Wha will be a traitor knave ? 

Wha will fill a coward’s grave ? 

Wha sae base as be a slave? 
Let him turn and flee! 


Wha for Scotland’s king and law 
Freedom’s sword will strongly draw, 
Freeman stand, or freeman fa’, 

Let him follow me! 


THE WESTERN SONGSTER. _ 81 


By oppression’s woes and pains ! 

By our sons in servile chains ! 

We will drain our dearest veins, 
But they shall be free! 


Lay the proud usurpers low! 

Tyrants fall in every foe! 

Liberty’s in every blow! 
Let us do or die! 





MASONIC SONG.—By T. S. Webs, 
All hail to the morning 
That bids us rejoice ; 
The temple’s completed, 
Exalt high each voice ; 
The cap-stone is finish’d, 
Our labour is o’er; 
The sound of the gavel 
Shall hail us no more. 

To the power Almighty, who ever has guided 
The tribes of old Israel, exalting their fame, 
To him who hath govern’d our hearts undivided, 

Let’s send forth our voices, to praise his great name. 


Companions, assembled 
On this joyful day, 
(Th’ occasion is glorious) 
The key-stone to lay ; 
Fulfill’d is the promise, 
By the Ancient of Days, 
To bring forth the cap-stone, 
With shouting and praise. 
There’s no more occasion for level or plumb line, 
For trowel or gavel, for compass or square ; 
Our works are completed, the Ark safely seated, . 
And we shall be greeted as workmen most rare. 
Now those that are worthy, 
Our toils who have shar’d, 
“a And prov’d themselves faithful, 
Shall meet their reward. 


- 


82 


. 


THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 


Their virtue and knowledge, 
Industry and skill, 

Have our approbation, 
Have gain’d our good will. 


We accept and receive the Most Excellent Masters, 
Invested with honours, and power to preside; _ 

Among worthy craftsmen, wherever assembled, 
The knowledge of masons to spread far and wide. 


Almighty Jehovah, 
Descend now, and fill 

This lodge with thy glory, 
Our hearts with good will! 

Preside at our meetings, 
Assist us to find . 

True pleasure in teaching 
Good will to mankind. 


‘Thy wisdom inspired the great institution, 

Thy strength shall support it, till nature expire; 
And when the creation shall fall into ruin, 

Its beauty shall rise through the midst of the fire! 





COME LET US PREPARE.—By M. Birkhead. 


Come let us prepare, 
We brothers that are 


Assembled on merry occasion; 


Let’s be happy and sing, . 
For life is a spring 


To a Free and an Accepted Mason. 


The world is in pain, 
Our secrets to gain, 


And still let them wonder and gaze on; 


They ne’er can divine 
The word or the sign, 


Of a Free and an Accepted Mason. 


*Tis this and ’tis that, 
They cannot tell what, 
* 


THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 83 


Why so many great men in the nation, 
Should aprons put on, 
To make themselves one 

With a Free and an Accepted Mason. 


Great kings, dukes and lords, 
Have laid by their swords, 

Our myst’ry to put a good grace on; 
And thought themselves fam’d, 
To have themselves nam’d 

With a Free and an Accepted Mason. 


We’re true and sincere, 
And just to the fair, 
They'll trust us on any occasion ; 
No mortal can more 
The ladies adore, 
Than a Free\and an Accepted Mason. 


Then join hand in hand, 
By each brother firm stand, 
Let’s be merry and put a bright face on ; 
What mortal can boast 
So noble a toast, 
As a Free and an Accepted Mason ? 





MASON’S HOLIDAY. 
Tune— Casino. 


Come, ye masons, hither bring, 
The tuneful pipe and pleasing string, 
Exert each voice, 
Aloud rejoice, 
And make the spacious concave ring ; 
Let your hearts be blithe and gay, 
Joy and mirth let all display ; 
No dull care 
Shall enter here, 
For this is mason’s holiday. 
Let your hearts, &c. 
F2 


84 


THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 


Friendship here has fix’d her seat, 
And virtue finds.a calm retreat, 
Go tell the fool 
°Tis wisdom’s school, 
Where love and honour always meet. 
Let your hearts, &c. 


Social pleasures here invite, 
To fill the soul with sweet delight, 
While hand in hand 
Our friendly band 
Jn love and harmony unite. 
Let your hearts, &c. 


May we oft assemble here, _ 

And long the badge of honour wear, 
May joy abound, : 
And we be found 

Forever faithful and sincere. 

Let your hearts, &c. 


“‘ While the craft is hand in hand, 
Let’s sing” unto our master grand, 
Long may he reign, 
The cause maintain, 
And Lodges flourish through the land. 
Let your hearts, &c. 





THE IRISHMAN, 


The savage loves his native shore, 

Tho’ rude the soil and chill the air, 
Then well may Erin’s sons adore 

Their isle which nature formed so fair ; 
What flood reflects a show so sweet, 

As Shannon’s great or pastoral band, 
Or who a friend or foe can meet, 

So gen’rous as an Irishman. 


Tho’ his hand be rash, his heart is warm, 
And principle is still his guide, 

None more regrets a deed of harm, 
None more forgives with nebler pride ; 


THE WESTERN SONGSTER. © 84 


Hie may be duped, but wont be dared ; 
But fit to practice and to plan, 

He ably earns his poor reward, 
And spends it like an Irishman. 


if poor in weal he’ll for you pay, 
And guide you where you safe may be; 
If you’re his comrade, whilst you stay, 
His cottage holds a jubilee ; : 
His inmost soul he will unlock, 
And if he may your merits scan, 
Your confidence he scorns to mock, 
For faithful is an Irishman. 


By honour bound in wo or weal, 
Whate’er she bids he dares to do, 
Try him with gold, it wont prevail, 
But e’en in fire you'll find him true; 
He seeks not safety let his post 
Be where there’s aught in dangers’ van; 
Or if the field of fame be lost, 
It wont be by an Irishman. 


Erin’s lov’d land, from age to age, 
Be thou more great, more fam’d and free ; 
May peace be yours, or should you wage 
Defensive wars, cheap victory ; 
May plenty flow in every field, 
And gentle breezes sweetly fan, 
May cheerful smiles serenely glide, 
In the breast of every Irishman. 





KITTY OF COLERAINE. 


As beautiful Kitty one morning was tripping 
With a pitcher of milk from the fair of Coleraine, 

When she saw me she stumbled, the pitcher it tumbled, 
And all the sweet buttermilk watered the plain. 

OQ! what shall I do now, ’twas iooking at you now, 
Sure, sure such a pitcher I’ll ne’er meet again; 

"T'was the pride of my dairy, O Barney M‘Cleary, 
You're sent as a plague to the girls of Coleraine. 


86 THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 


I sat down beside her and gently did chide her, 
That such a misfortune should give her such pain ; 
A kiss then I gave her, and before I did leave her, 
She vow’d for such pleasure she’d break it again. 
"Twas hay-making season, I can’t tell the reason, 
Misfortune will neyer come single, ’tis plain ; 
For very soon after poor Kitty’s disaster, 
The devil a pitcher was whole in Coleraine. 





YOUNG DAMON. 


Young Damon long studied my heart to obtain, 
He’s id prettiest young shepherd that pipes o’er the 
plain, 
He tells me soft tales, and I vow they’re not amiss; 
T have often said no, when I long’d to say yes, 
Yes—yes— Og 
I have often said no, when I long’d to say yes. 


Last Valentine’s day to my cottage he came, 

He brought me a Lambkin to witness his flame; 

Here, take this, he cries, you’re fairer than the fleece ; 

I designed to say no, but mistook and said yes, 
Yes—yes— 

I designed to say no, but mistook and said yes. 


One evening of late, as we met in the grove, 

He press’d my hand hard, and a sigh breathed his love; 

He tenderly asked me to grant him a kiss, | 

I designed to say no, but mistook and said yes, 
Yes—yes— : 

I designed to say no, but mistook and said yes. 


He flew into raptures no tongue can express ; 
Ye gods, he cried, Flora, would’st thou make me bless’d, - 
To church we will go for a conjugal bliss. 

To prevent being teased, I was forced to say yes, 

Yes—yes— 

To prevent being teased, I was forced to say yes. 
{ never was so pleased with a word in my life, 

I never was so happy as since I’ve been a wife, 


THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 87 


Come all you young damsels, take warning by this, 

You will all die old maids if you do not say yes, 
Yes—yes— 

You will alldie old maids if you do not say yes. 





POOR OLD MAIDS. 


Four score and ten of us, poor old maids; 

Four score and ten of us, poor old maids; 

Four score and ten of us, without a penny in our purse, 
What shall be done for us, poor old maids. 


Weare alla dismal crew, poor old maids; 
We are all a dismal crew, poor old maids ; 
Weare all dressed in yellow, pink, and blue; 
Nursing cats is all we do, poor old maids. 


We are all on crutches, come poor old maids; 

We are al! on crutches, come poor old maids ; 

We are all on crutches, come, some are deaf and some 
’ are dumb, Shame 

Hoping soon to change our doom, poor old maids. 


We'll petition George the Third, poor old maids; 

We'll petition George the Third, poor old maids; 

We'll petition George the Third, and our petition shall 
be heard, | 

And a beau for each preserved, poor old maids. 


We are of a willing mind, poor old maids; 

We are of a willing mind, poor old maids ; 

We are of a willing mind, if young men will be so kind, 
As to take us lame and blind, poor old maids. 





AULD LANG SYNE.—By R. Burns. 


Should auld acquaintance be forgot, 
And never brought to min’? 
Should auld acquaintance be forgot, 
And days 0’ lang syne? 
{-Horus—For auld lang syne, my dear, 
a For auld lang syne, 
We'll tak’ a cup o’ kindness yet, 
For auld lang syne. 


88. 


al 


THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 


We twa hae run about the braes, 
And pu’dthe gowans fine; 
But we’ve wandered mony a weary foot, 
Sin’ auld lang-syne. 
For auld, &c. 
We twa hae paidlet i’ the burn, 
Fra mornin sun till dine: 
But seas between us braid hae roar’d, 
Sin’ auld lang syne. 
For auld, &c. 


And here’s a hand, my trusty fiere, 
And gie’s a hand o’ thine ; 
And we'll tak’ a right gude wille-waught, 
For auld lang syne. 
For auld, &c. 


And surely ye’ll be your pint stowp, 
And surely Pll bemine; | 
And we'll tak’ a cup o’ kindness yet. 
’ For auld lang syne. 
For auld, &c. 


BLUE-EYED MARY. 


Come, tell me, blue-ey’d stranger, 
Say, whither dost thou roam ? 

O’er this wide world a ranger, 
Hast thou no friends or home ? 


They call’d me blue-ey’d Mary, 
When friends and fortune smil’d; 
But ah! how fortunes vary, 
I now am sorrow’s child. 


Come here, I'll buy thy flowers, 
And ease thy hapless lot, 

Still wet with waning showers, | 
I'll buy, forget me not. 


Kind sir, then take these posies, 
They’re fading like my youth, 

But never, like these roses, 
Shall wither Mary’s truth. 





THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 89 


Look up, thou poor forsaken, 
I'll give thee house and home, 
And if I’m not mistaken, 
Thou’lt never wish to roam. 


Once more I’m happy Mary, 
Once more has fortune smil’d; 

Who ne’er from virtue vary, 
May yet be fortune’s child. 


Cane 


COME, TAKE THE HARP.—By T. Moore. 


Come, take the harp—’tis vain to muse 
Upon the gathering ills we see! 

Oh! take the harp, and let me lose 
All thoughts of ill in hearing thee! 


Sing to me, love! though death were near, | 
‘Thy song could make my soul forget— 
Nay, nay, in pity dry that tear, 
All may be well, be happy yet! 


Let me but see that snowy arm 
Once more upon the dear harp lie, 
And I will cease to dream of harm, 
Will smile at fate, while thou art nigh! 


Give me that strain, of mournful touch, 
We used to love, long, long ago, 

Before our hearts had known as much 
As now, alas! they bleed to know! 


Sweet notes! they tell of former peace, 
Of all that look’d so rapturous then, 
Now wither’d, lost—oh! pray thee cease, 

I cannot bear those sounds again! 


Art thou too wretched ? yes, thou art ; 
I see thy tears flow fast with mine— 

Come, come to this devoted heart, 
"Tis breaking, but it still is thine ' 


90 THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 


YOUNG COLIN. 


Young Colin did ask me what life I would choose, 
To answer his question I would not refuse, 
If to live in the country or town was his choice, 
If solitude pleas’d me, or hurry and noise, 

Hurry and noise, &c. 
If solitude pleas’d me, or hurry and noise. 


Whate’er pleases Colin will always please me, 
With him I am happy wherever he be; 
The amusements in town with my Colin I'd share, 
And the country’s delightful if Colin is there, 

If Colin is there, &c. 
- And the country’s delightful if Colin is there. 


The country, my charmer, the country I love, 

But then, my Eliza, the country would prove 

Distasteful to Colin ifthou wast not there, 

To heighten his pleasures, and in them to share, 
And in them to share, &c. 

To heighten his pleasures, and in them to share. 


And will my Eliza go cheerfully down, 

With me to the country, and leave this gay town? 

And will that dear creature, to please a fond swain, 

‘Give up her assemblies and balls without pain ? 
Balls without pain, &c. 

‘Give up her assemblies and balls without pain. 


Once an assembly did give me delight, 

And once I attended a ball every night ; 

But now these amusements insipid do prove, 

Since I’ve yielded to the pleasures of friendship and love, 
Friendship and love, &c. 

Since I’ve yielded to the pleasures of friendship and love. 


In thee thy Eliza true happiness finds, 

A happiness formed on a union of minds ; 

Then with my dear Colin I'd cheerfully go, 

And leave this vain town with its nonsense and show, 
Nonsense and show, &c. 

And leave this vain town with its nonsense and show 


THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 9 
he 
Thy cheerful compliance, my charmer, my wife, 
Has given young Colin new spirits and life ; . 
{ never knew happiness until 1 knew thee, 
Was wedlock a bondage I would not be free, 
. Would not be free, &c. - 
Was wedlock a bondage, I would not be free. 


Now in my Eliza I am perfectly bless’d, 

And nothing from henceforth my peace shall molest ; 
And friendship itself, the best blessing in life, 
And friendship itself I enjoy ina wife, 

. _ Enjoy in a wife, &c. 

And friendship itself 1 enjoy in a wife. 





THE HUNTERS OF KENTUCKY. 


Is sung by Mr. Ludlow, in the New Orleans and Western 
Country Theatres. : 


Ye hen ae and ladies fair, 
ho grace this famous eity, 
Just listen, if you’ve time to spare, 
While I rehearse a ditty ; 
And for an opportunity, 
Conceive yourselves quite lucky, — 
For ‘tis not.often here you see 
A hunter from Kentucky. 
Oh, Kentucky ! the hunters of Kentueky 
The hunters of Kentucky. 


‘We are a hardy free born race, _ 
Each man to fear a stranger ;- 
Whate’er the game, we joinin chase, 
Despising toil and danger ; 
And if a daring foe annoys, 
Whate’er his strength and forces, 
We'll show him that Kentucky boys 
Are “ alligator horses.” 
Oh! Kentucky, &c. 
regains 


THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 
nm 
I s’pose you’ve read it in the prints, 
How Packenham attempted - 
To make old Hickory Jackson wince, 
But soon his schemes repented ; 
For we with rifles ready cock’d, 
Thought such occasion lucky, 
And soon around the general flock’d 
The hunters of Kentucky. 
Oh! Kentucky, &c. 


You've heard, I s’pose, how New Orleans 
Is fam’d for wealth and beauty— 
There’s girls of every hue it seems, 
From snowy white to sooty, , 
So Packenham he made his brags, 
If he in fight was lucky, 
He’d have their girls and:cotton bags, 
In spite of old Kentucky. 
Oh! Kentucky, &c. 


But Jackson he was wide awake, 
' And was’nt scar’d at trifles, 
For well he knew what aim we take 
With our Kentucky rifles ; 
So he led us down to Cypress swamp, 
The ground was low and mucky, 
There stoed John Bull in martial pomp, 
And here was old Kentucky. 
Oh! Kentucky, &c. 


A bank was raised to hide our breast, 
Not that we thought of dying, 

But that we always like to rest, 
Unless the game is flying ; 

Behind it stood our little force— 
None wish’d it to be greater, 

For every wan was half a horse, 
And half an alligator. 

Oh! Kentucky, &ce. 


They did not let our patience tire, 
Before they show’d their faces— — 


Be 


THE WESBKERN SONGSTER. 


We did not choose to waste our fire, 
So snugly kept our places; 
% But when so near to see them wink, 
We thought it time to stop ’em,. 
And ’twould have done you. good I think. 
To see Kentuckians drop ’ em. 
-Oh! Kentucky, &c.” . 


They Policia at last *twas vain to fight 
Where lead was all their booty ; 

And so they wisely took to flight, 
And left us all our beauty. 

And now if danger e’er annoys, 
Remember what our trade is; 

Just send for us Kentucky boys, ° 
And we’ll protect you, ladies. 

Oh! Kentucky, &c., 


AULD LANG SYNE.—By Mrs. Bringhurst. 


Oh years have flown since first we met, 
And sorrows have been mine! 
I’ve often thought with fond regret, 
On auld lang syne. 
For auld lang syne, my dear, 
For auld lang syne ; 
We'll take a cup o’ kindness yet, 
For auld lang syne. 


{ felt when to thy bosom press’d, 
That greater joys were mine ; 
Than e’er my youthful heart had known, 
‘In auld lang syne. 
For auld lang syne, &c. 


Though fortune sce thy path of life, 
Far, far away from mine ; 
‘The hour may be when next we meet, 
- An auld lang syne. 
For auld lang syne, &c, 


9 


©}. - 


‘THE WESTERN SONGSTER: 


: Then fare thee well, if thou art bless’d, 


Thy friend will not repine; 
But some time give a kindly thought, 
To auld lang syne. Bek 
For auld lang syne, &c. 





* JOCKEY TO THE FAIR. 


"Twas on the morn of sweet May day, 
When nature painted all things gay, 


‘Taught birds to sing and lambs to play, 


And gild the meadows rare: 
Young Jockey early in the dawn, 


-Arose and tript it o’er the lawn; 


His Sunday coat the youth put on, 

For Jenny had vow’d away to run 
With Jockey to the fair. 
For Jenny had, &c. 


The cheerful parish bells had rung, 

With eager steps he trudg’d-along ; 

With flow’ry garlands round Paced: 
Which shepherds used to wear: | 

He tapp’d the window—haste, my dear, 

Jenny, impatient, cried who’s there ? 

Tis 1, my love, and no one near, 

Step gently down, you’ve nought to fear, 
With Jockey to the fair. 


My dad and mamma’s fast asleep, 

My brother’s up and with the sheep, 

And will you still your promise keep, 
Which I have heard you swear? 

And will you ever constant prove ? 

I will by all the pow’rs of love, 

And ne’er deceive my charming dove: 

Dispel these doubts, and haste my love, 
With Jockey to the fair. 

Behold the ring! the shepherd cried, 

Will Jenny be my charming bride? _ 

Let Cupid be our happy guide, Bae” 
And Hymen meet us there. 


oi 


- THE WESTERN SONGSTER. - 995 


Then Jockey did his vows renew, 

He would be constant, would be true; 

His word was pledged—away she flew, 

O’er cowslip tipt with balmy dew, 
With Jockey to the fair. 


In raptures meet the jovial throng, 
Their gay companions blithe and young: 
Each join the dance, each join the song, 

And hail the happy day: . 
Return’d, there’s none so fond as they, 
They bless’d the kind propitious day, 
‘The smiling morn of blooming May, 
When lovely Jenny ran away, 

With Jockey to the fair. 


THE MAID OF LODI. 


I sing the maid of Lodi, 
Sweet soother of my toil ; 
Peace dwells within her bosom, 
And pleasure lights her smile. 
Her eyes of mildest lustre, 
A placid mind disclose ; 
Her cheeks in beauty rival, _ 
The blushes of the rose. 


When o’er the fading landscape 
The shades of twilight steal, 

When sea and land are blended 
Beneath the dusky veil, 

J meet the maid of Lodi, 
On yonder vine-cloth’d hill, 

. Or whisper tales of rapture, 

Beside yon sparkling rill. 

Around her humble dwelling 
No servile crowds appear; 

She but receives the homage 
That springs from hearts siricere. 

G2 


90 | THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 


‘Then sing the maid of Lodi, 
Whom native charms adorn, 

Bright as the glowing radiance, 
That gilds the dawn of morn. 





COME, REST IN THIS BOSOM.—By T. Moore. 


_ Corhe, rest in this bosom, my own stricken deer! 

Though the herd have fled from thee, thy home is still 
here ; 

Here still is the smile that no cloud can o’ercast, 

And the heart and the hand all thy own to the iast! 


Oh! what was love made for, if ’tis not the same. 

Through joy and through torments, through glory anil 
shame ? : 

I knew not, | ask’d not, if guilt’s in that heart, 

I but know that I love thee, whatever thou art! © 


- Thou hast call’d me thy angel, in moments of bliss,— 
Still thy angel I’ll be, ’mid the horrors of this,— 
Through the furnace, unshrinking, thy steps to pursue, 
- And shield thee, and save thee, or perish there too! 





TYROLESE SONG OF LIBERTY.—By T. Moore. 


Merrily every bosom boundeth, 
Merrily oh! merrily oh! 
Where the song of freedom soundeth, 
Merrily oh! merrily oh! 
Where the song of freedom soundeth, 
Merrily oh! merrily oh! 
There the warrior’s arms 
Shed more splendour: 
There the maiden’s charms 
Shine more tender: 
Ev’ry joy the land surroundeth, ’ . 
| Merrily oh! merrily oh! 
Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily oh! 
Merrily oh! merrily oh! 


~ 


THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 


Wearily ev’ry bosom pineth, 
_ Wearily ch! wearily oh! 
Where the bond of slav’ry twineth, 
Wearily oh! wearily oh! 
There the warrior’s dart 
Hath no fleetness ; 
There the maiden’s heart 
i Hath no sweetness ; 
Ev'ry flow’r of life declineth, 
| . _ Wearily oh! wearily oh! 
Wearily, wearily, &c. 


Cheerily then from hill and valley, 
Cheerily oh! cheerily oh! 
Like your native fountains sally, 
Cheerily oh! cheerily oh! 
Ifa glorious death, 
Won by bravery, 
Sweeter be than breath 
Sigh’d in slavery ; 
Round the flag of freedom rally, 
Cheerily oh! cheerily oh! 
Cheerily, cheerily, &c. 


Se ee 


CORYDON. 


Her sheep had in clusters crept close to the grove, 
To hide from the heat of the day ; 

_ And Phillis herself in a woodbine alcove, 
Amongst the sweet violets lay : 

A lambkin, it seems, had been stole from the fleck, 
"T wixt Cupid and Hymen a plot, 

That Corydon might, as he sought for his lamb, 
Arrive at the critical spot. 


As o’er the green hedge for his lambkin he peeps, 
He ’spies a fair nymph with surprise ; 

“Ye gods! if so killing, alas! while she sleeps, 
“I’m lost if she opens her eyes; 


97 


f 
98 © | ‘THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 


“To tarry much longer would hazard my heart, 
“ So home with my lambkin [ll trace:” , 
In vain honest Corydon strove to depart, 
But love held him fast to the place. 
Cease, cease, silly birds, what a chirping you keep, 
I think you’re too loud on the spray ; 
Don’t you see, silly lark, that my charmer’s asleep, 
You'll wake her as sure as ’tis day. oe 
How dare that fond butterfly touch the dear maid, 
Her cheeks he mistakes for a rose ; : 
I'd put him to death, if 1 were not afraid 
My boldness would break her repose. 


Then Phillis looked up with a languishing smile, 
‘“‘ Kind shepherd,” says she, ‘‘ you mistake, 

_“T only laid down to rest me awhile, 
“ But trust me, I’ve long been awake.” 

The shepherd took courage, advanced with a bow, 
And seated himself by her side; - 

‘'Bhey manag’d the matter, I cannot tell how, 
But yesterday he made her his bride. 





THE SOLDIER'S BRIDE .— Fitzsimmons. 


The moon was beaming silver bright, 
The eye no cloud could view ; 
Her lover’s step in silent night, 
Well pleas’d,,the damsel knew. 
At midnight hour,” 
Beneath the tower, 
He murmur’d soft, “ Oh, nothing fearing, 
_ With your own true Soldier fly, 
And his faithful heart be cheering ; 
List! dear, ’tis I; 
List! list, list, love ; jist! dear, ’tis I; 
With thine own true Soldier fly.” * 
Then whisper’d Love, “‘ Oh, maiden fair, 
- Ere morning sheds its ray, di 
Thy lover calls ;—all peril dare, 
And haste to horse away! oy 


THE WESTERN SONGSTER. | 99- 


In time of need, 
Yon gallant steed, 
"That champs the rein, delay reproving, 
Shall each peril bear thee by, 
With his master’s charmer roving ; 
List! dear, ’tis I; 
gist | list, list, love ; list ! dear, ‘tis ie 
Vith thine own true. Soldier fly.” 


‘And now the gallant soldier’s Bride, 
She’s fled her home afar, dy EC 
And chance, or joy, or wo betide, pala 
She'll brave with him the war! 
And bless the hour, 
When ’neath the tow’r, 
He whisper’d soft, “‘ Oh, nothing fearing, 
With thine own true Soldier fly, 
And his faithful heart be cheering : 
List! dear, ’tis I; 
List ! list, list, love ; list ! dear, *tis I; 
With thine own true Soldier fly.” 


aaa 


THE MARINER’S WIFE.—W. J. Mickle. 


But are you sure the news is true? 
And are you sure he's well ? 
Ts this a time to think o’ wark ? 
Ye lass, fling by your wheel. 
There’s nae luck about the house, 
There’s nae luck at a’; 
There’s nae luck about the house, 
When our good man’s awa. 


Is this a time to think o’ wark, 
When Colin’s at the door? 
Gi’ me my cloak, ’ll down the key, 
And see him come ashore. 
There’s nae luck about the house, &c., 


Rise up and mak’ a clean fire side, 
Put on the muckle pot ; 
Gi’ little Kate her cotton gown, 
And Jack his Sunday’s coat. 
There’s nae luck, &e. 





HS 
Ned 


1GO° = VHE WESTERN SONGSTER. 


Mak’ their shoon as black as slaes, 
Their stockings white as snaw ; 
. It’s a’ to pleasure our good man, 
He likes to see them braw. 
There’s nae luck, &c. 
There are twa hens into the crip, 
I’ve fed this month or mair ; 
Make haste and throw their necks about, 
That Colin well may fare. 
There’s nae luck, &c. 


‘ Bring down to me my bigonet, 
My bishop-satin gown, 
And then gae tell the Bailie’s wife, 
That Colin’s come to town. 
There’s nae luck, &c. ° 


My Turkey slippers Ill put on, 
My stockings of pearl blue, 
And a’ to pleasure our good man, 
For he’s both leal and true. 
There’s nae luck, &c. 


Sac sweet his voice, sae smooth his tongue, 
His breath’s like cauler air, 
His very tread has music in’t;, 
As he comes up the stair. 
There’s nae luck, &c. 


And will I see his face again ? 
And will I hear him speak ?. 
I’m downright dizzy wi’ the joy, 
And e’en I’m like to greet. 

There’s nae luck, &c, 


Ce rene 


LA FAYETTE. 


Tunr—“ Auld Lang Syne.’ 
Should auld acquaintance be forgot, 
And never brought to mind? 
The friend that’s true remembered not, 
And days o’ lang syne ? ae 


THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 101 


for auld lang syne, my dear, 
We never can forget, 

When dangers press’d and foes drew. near, 
Our friend was La Fayette. 


When first our fathers bravely drew 
’Gainst tyrants and their laws, 
On wings of generous zeal he flew, 
To aid the holy cause. 
For auld lang syne; my dear, &c. 


He stemmed the broad Atlantic wave, 
He vowed they should be free, 
He led the bravest of the brave, 
To death or victory. | 
For auld lang syne, my dear, &c. ° 


Let Brandywine his glory tell, . 
And Monmouth loud acclaim ; 
Let York in triumph proudly swell 
The measure of his fame. 
For auld lang syne, my dear, &c. 
Shall sons of freedom e’er forget, 
Till time shall cease to move, 
The debt they owe to La Fayette, 
Of gratitude and love. 
For auld lang syne, my dear, &c. 





THE DOWNHILL OF LIFE. 


* In the downhill of life when I find I’m declining, 

May my fate no less fortunate be, : 

Than a snug elbow chair can afford for reclining, 
And a cot that o’erlooks the wide sea; 

With an ambling pad poney to pace o’er the lawn, 
While I carol away idle sorrow; 

And blithe as the lark that each day hails the dawn, 
Look forward with hope for to-merrow. 


With a porch at my door both for shelter and shade too, 
_ _ As the sunshine or rain may prevail, 
And a small spot of ground for the use of the spade too, 
_ With a barn for the use of the flail ; 


esis 
102. THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 


A cow for my dairy, a dog for my game, 

And a purse when my friend wants to borrow; 
I'd envy no nabob his riches or fame, 

Or the honours that wait him to-morrow. 


From the bleak northern blast, may my cot be com- 


pletely 

Secur’d by a neighbouring hill, 

And at night may repose steal on me more sweetly, 
By the sound of'a murmuring rill. 

And while peace and plenty I find at my board, 
With a heart free from sickness and sorrow, 

With my friends will I share what to-day may afford, 
And let them spread the table to-morrow. 


os : i 
And when IJ at last must throw off this frail covering, 
Which [’ve worn for years three score and ten ; 


On the brink of the grave I'll not seek to keep hovering, 


Nor my thread wish to spin o’er again; 
- But my face in the glass, I'll serenely survey, 
And with smiles count each wrinkle and furrow ; 
As this worn out old stuff, which is threadbare to-day, 
May become everlasting to-morrow. 





I WON’T BE A NUN. 


Now is it not a pity such a pretty girl as I, 

Should be sent to a nunnery to pine away and die; 
But I won’t be a nun—no, | won’t be a nun— 
I’m so fond of pleasure that I cannot be a nun. 


Um sure I cannot tell what’s the mischief I have done, 
But my mother oft tells me that I must be a nun. 
But I wont be a nun, &c. Apa 


I could not bear confinement, it would not do for me, 
For I like to go a shopping, and to see what I can see. 
So I won’t be a nun, &c. 


I love to hear men flattering—love fashionable clothes, 
T love music and dancing, and chatting with the beaus. 
So I can’t be a nun, &c. mcrae : 


a he 


THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 108 


So mother, don’t be angry now, but let your daughter be, 
for the nuns would not like to have a novice wild as me. 
And I can’t be a nun—no, I won’t be a nun— 
I’m so fond of pleasure that I cannot be a nun. 





LA FAYETTE’S, WELCOME TO MARYLAND. 
(Dec, 24th, 1824.) 


Sung at the dinner given to Gen. La Fayette by the 
Legislature of Maryland, by W. P. Farquhar, a Delegate 
frem Frederick County. 


Tunes— Scots wa hae,” &c. 


Welcome, welcome, La Fayette, 

Thee we never shall forget ; 

Friend of man, we love thee yet, 
Friend of Liberty. 


Thou wast once our friend indeed, 
Wast our friend in time of need— 
Thou for us didst freely bleed, 

Son of Liberty. %- 


And we love to see thee here, 

Thou art now, as ever, dear; - 

Thee we ever shall revere— 
Friend of Liberty. 


Yes, we take thee by the hand, 
Welcome thee to Maryland— 
» _ By thee she will ever stand, 
» Firm and true to thee. 


Thou hast been the honest man, 

Acting on a worthy pian; 

Since old time its course began— 
Who has done like thee. 


And the toils of war now o’er, 

Welcome to Columbia’s shore ; 

Yes, we love thee more and more— 
Friend of Liberty. 


IZ 
m3 


104 


GMA oe oO ae * 


THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 


Freedom’s cause is cause divine: 

Freedom’s cause was ever thine: 

On the world soon may it shine, 
The sun of Liberty. 


Welcome, welcome, La Fayette, 

Thou art good and thou art great; 

Welcome, welcome, to our state— 
Happy may’st thou be. 


Sons and daughters long shall tell, 

None did ever thee excel; 

Mothers, fathers, lov’d thee well— 
Friend of Liberty. 





WELCOME LA FAYETTE. 


Composed at Nashville, and sung by the young la- 
dies of the Nashville Female Academy, on the recep- 
tion of General La Fayette at that Institution, May 5th, 


| 1825. 


Oh! welcome, warrior, to the soil 
That gave the brave a bed, 

Whose harvest yields the ample spoil 
Of blood for freedom shed ; 

Welcome, welcome, to the shore, 

Thy youthful footsteps fondly press’d, 
Where free born millions proudly join, 
To hail the nation’s guest— 

Huzza! hugza! huzza! huzza! 

To hail the nation’s guest. 


Ye beauteous maids, your garlands Rifle 
Around the hero’s brow ; 

Ye hoary veterans, hither bring 

The heart’s full tribute now; 

Let kings their diadems cast down, 
And nobles shrink to nothing—yet 
True glory, honour, gem the name 

Of gallant La Fayette— 

Huzza! huzza! huzza! huzza'! 

For gallant La Fayette. 


afi 


— UO a 


Ay ‘ip! 
3 
THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 105 


Oh! welcome, father—name alone 
- Dearer than titles—we, hae 
Thy children, give thy homage known, 
And freemen greet thee free; 
True patriot, shield thy hoary head 
Beneath the oak thou help’dst to rear ; 
Welcome, deliverer, champion, friend, 
La Fayette’s welcome here— 
Huzza! huzza! huzza! huzza! 
La Fayette’s welcome here. 





ABSENCE. 


Days of absence, sad and dreary, 
Clothed in sorrow’s dark array ; 
Days of absence, I am weary, 
When my love is far away. ee 5 
Hours of bliss, ye quickly vanish! Si 
When will aught like thee return? 
When shall sighing truly vanish ? 
When this bosom cease to mourn? ieee 


Not till that lov’d vow can greet me, 
Which so oft has cheer’d my ear ; 
Not till those sweet eyes can meet me, 

Telling that I still am dear. 
Days of absence then shall vanish, 
Joy shall all my pains repay, 

From my idle bosom banish, 
Gloom but felt when he’s away. 


> 


FAR, FAR FROM ME. 


Far, far from me my lover fiies, 
A faithless lover he; 

Tn vain my tears, in vain my sighs, 
No longer true to me ; 

He seeks, he seeks another; he seeks, he seeks another ; 
No longer, longer true to me; 

He seeks, he seeks another ; he seeks, he seeks another. 





106 





Lie still my he: 
No pangs to him betray, 

Who taught you these sad 
Then laughing went aw 

To seek, to seek another ; ) 
No longer, longer true to me, 

He secks, he seeks another; he seeks, he seeks another. 





(fe) 


hs to heave, 









THE MINUTE GUN AT SEA. 


Let him who sighs in sadness here, 
Rejoice and know a friend is near ; 
What heav’nly sounds are those I hear? 
What being comes the gloom to cheer? 
When in the storm on Albion’s coast, 
The night watch guards his weary post, 
rom thoughts of danger free ; 

He marks some vessel’s dusky form, 

nd hears amid the howling storm, 
jl, The minute gun at sea. 





Swift on the shore a hardy few, 

The life-boat man, with a gallant, gallant crew, 

And dare the dang’rous wave ; 
Through the wild surf they cleave their way, 
Lost in the foam, nor know dismay, 
For they go the crew to save. 

But oh, what rapture fills each breast, 
Of the hapless crew of the ship distress’d. 
Then landed safe, what joys to tell 
Of all the dangers that befel. 
‘Then is heard no more, af 
By the watch on the shore, . 
The minute gun at sea. 









THE ROSE TREE. 


A rose tree in full bearing, 
Had sweet flowers fair to see ; 
One rose beyond comparing, 
For beauty, attracted me. 


‘a 
. 2 





Tae. Vy 
ne bhai 


THE WESTERN SONGS’ 





Tho’ eager then to win it, 
Lovely, blooming, fresh, and gay, 

I find a canker in it, gis, | MR 
And now throw it far away. © 


How fine this morning early, 
All sun-shiny clear and bright ; 
So late I lov’d you dearly, 
Tho’ lost now each fond delight. 
The clouds seem big with showers, 
Sunny beams no more are seen: 
Farewell, ye fleeting hours, 
Your falsehood has chang’d the scene. 





WHY DOES AZURE DECK THE BS 


Why does azure deck the sky ? _Riaxe 
"Tis to be like thine eyes of blue; 

Why is red the rose’s dye? ae 
Because it is thy blushes’ hue. Pi ‘i 


All that’s fair, by love’s decree, 
Has been made resembling thee. 


Why is falling snow so white, 
But to be like thy bosom fair ? 
Why are solar beams so bright ? 
That they may seem thy golden hair. 
All that’s bright, &c. 


Why are nature’s beauties felt ° 
Oh! ’tis thine in her we see ; 
Why has music power to melt ? 
Oh! because it speaks like thee. 
All that’s sweet, &c. 





- THE SOLDIER’S RETURN—R. Burns. 


When wild war's deadly blast was blown, 
And gentle peace returning. | 
H 2 


& 








a 
WESTERN SONGSTER. 


And eyes again with pleasure beam’d 
That had been blear’d with mourning ; 
I left the lines and tented fleld, 
Where lang I'd been a lodger, 
My humble knapsack a’ my wealth, 
A poor and honest soldier. 


A leal, light heart was in my breast, 
My hand unstain’d by plunder ; 
And for fair Scotia, hame again, 
I cheery on did wander. 
{ thought upon the banks 0’ Coil, 
I thought upon my Nancy, 
I thought upon the witching smile, 
That caught my youthful fancy. 


At length I reached the bonny glen, 
_. Where early life I sported ; 
T pass’d the mill and trysting thorn, 
CF Where Nancy aft I courted: 
_ Wha spied IJ but my ain dear maid, 
_ Down by her mother’s dwelling ! 
_ And turn’d me round to hide the flood, 
That in my een was swelling. 





Wi’ alter’d voice, quoth I, sweet lass, 
Sweet as yon hawthorn’s blossom ; 

O happy, happy, may he be, 
That’s dearest to thy bosom : 

My purse is light, I’ve far to gang, 
And fain wad be thy lodger ; 

[ve serv’d my king and country lang, 
Take pity on a soldier ! 


Sae wistfully she gaz’d on me, 
And lovelier was than ever ; 
Quo’ she, a soldier ance I lo’ed, 
Forget him shall I never ; 
Our humble cot, and hamely fare, 
Ye freely shall partake it ! 
That gallant badge, the dear cockade, 
Ye’re welcome for the sake o’t. ” 





i 


THE WESTERN SONG R. 169 


She gaz’d—she redden’d like a rose— 
Syne pale like ony lily, 

She sank within my arms, and cried, 
Art thou my ain dear Willie ? 

By Him who made yon sun and sky, 
By whom true love’s regarded, 

Iam the man—and thus may still 
True lovers be rewarded ! 


The wars are o’er, and I’m come hame, 
And find thee still true-hearted ; 

Tho’ poor in gear, we’re rich in love, 
And mair—we’se ne’er be parted ! 

Quo’ she, my grandsire left me gowd, 
And mailin plenish’d fairly ; 

And come my faithful soldier lad, 
Thou'rt welcome to it dearly! 


Fer gold the merchant ploughs the main, 
The farmer ploughs the manor ; 
But glory is the soldier’s prize, 
The soldier’s wealth is honour. 
The brave poor soldier ne’er despise, 
Nor count him asa stranger ; 
Remember, he’s his country’s stay, 
In day and hour of danger. 





ate ewes 


LOVE’S YOUNG DREAM.—By T. Moore. 


Oh! the days are gone, when beauty bright 
My heart’s chain wove ; 
When my dream of life, from morn till night, 
Was love, still love! 
New hope may bloom, 
And days may come, 
Of milder calmer beam ; 
But there’s nothing half so sweet in life, 
As love’s young dream ! 
©h! there’s nothing half so sweet in Tee 
As love’s young dream! 


lll f 
an 


~ Oh! ‘twas light that ne’er can shine again 
On life’s dull stream. 








THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 


Though the bard to purer fame may soar, 
When wild youth’s past ; 

Though he win the wise who frown’d before, 
To smile at last: 
He'll never meet — 
A joy so sweet 

In all his noon of fame, 

As when first he sung to woman’s ear 
His soul-felt flame, 

And at every pause she blush’d to hear 
The once lov’d name ! 


O! that hallow’d form is ne’er forgot, 
Which first love trac’d; 
Still it lingering haunts the greenest spot 
On memory’s waste ; 
"Twas odour fled 
As soon as shed, 
"T'was morning’s winged dream; 
"Twas a light that ne’er can shine again 
On life’s dull stream : 





TOM HALLIARD. 


Now the rage of battle ended, — Me 
And the foe for mercy call : 
Death no more in smoke and thunder 
Rode upon the vengeful ball ; 
Yet, what brave and loyal heroes 
Saw the sun of morning bright ; 
Ah! condemned by cruel fortune, 
Ne’er to see the star of night. 


From the main deck to the quarter, 
Strew’d with limbs, and wet with blood, 
Poor Tom Halliard, pale and wounded, 
Crawl’d where his brave captain stood. 
“QO! my noble captain, tell me, 
Ere I’m borne a corpse away ; 
Have I done a seaman’s duty, 
On, this great, this glorious day ? 


i 
NTS, 


THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 


“Tell a dying sailor truly, 
For my life is fleeting fast, 

Have I done a sailor’s duty, 
Can they aught my mem’ry blast ?” 

“Ah! brave Tom,” replied the captain, 
“ Thou a sailor’s part hast done, 

I revere thy wounds with sorrow— 
Wounds by which our glory’s won.” 

*¢ Thanks, my captain, life is ebbing 
Fast from this deep wounded heart : 

Yet, O! grant one little favour 
Ere I! from this world depart : 

Bid some kind and trusty sailor, 
When I’m nyumber’d with the dead, 

For my true and constant Cath’rine, 
Cut a lock from this poor head. 

“ Bid him to my Cath’rine bear it, 
Saying, her’s alone [ die: 

Kate will keep the mournful present, 
And embalm it with a sigh. 

Bid him, too, this letter bear her, 
Which [’ve penn’d with parting breath, 

Kate will ponder on the writing, | 
When the hand is cold m death.” 


“ That I will,” replied the captain, 
-® And be ever Cath’rine’s friend ;” 
« Thanks, my good, my great commander, 
Now my pains, my sorrows end.” 
Mute towards the captain weeping, 
Tom upraised a thankful eye ; 
Grateful then his feet embracing, 
Sunk with “ Kate” on his last sigh. 


Who, that saw a scene so mournful, 
Could without a tear depart ? 

He must own a savage nature, 

- Pity never warm’d his heart. 

Now in his white hammock shrouded, 
By the kind and pensive crew ; 

As they drop’d him in the ocean, 
All sigh’d out, “ Poor Tom, adieu!” 


- 


iil 





a. oH a: 
a Re 
112 THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 


HE WAS FAMED.—By Cherry. 


a 
He was famed for deeds of arms, 
She a maid of envied charms ; oe 
Now to him her love imparts, 
One pure flame pervades both hearts ; 
Honour calls him to the field, 
Love to conquest now must yield— 
Sweet maid, he eries, again I'll come to thee, 
When the glad trampet sounds a victory. 


Battle now with fury glows, 

Hostile blood in torrents flows ; 

Duty tells him to depart, 

She prest her hero to her heart. 

Now the trumpet sounds to arnis, 

Now the clash of war’s alarms— 

Sweet maid, he cries, again I'll come to thee, 
When the glad trumpet sounds a victory. 


He with love and conquest burns, 

Both subdue his mind by turns; 

Death the soldier now enthrals ! 

With his wounds the hero falls! 

She, disdaining war’s alarms, 

Rush’d and caught him in her arms! 

O, death! he cries, thou’rt welcome now to me ; 
For hark! the trumpet sounds a victory. 








THE BANKS OF CHAMPLAIN.—By Mrs. M- 


“T'was autumn, and round me the leaves were descend- 
ah . 


ing’, yaar | 
And lonely the woodpecker peck’d off the tree, 
Whilst thousands their freedom and rights were defend- 
ing, 
The din of their arms sounded dismal to me; 
For Sandy, my love, was engag’d in the action, 
Without him [ valued the world not a fraction ; 
His death would have ended my life in distraction, 
As lonely I stray’d-on the banks of Cliamplain. 






oe 
why 


THE ear SONGSTER. 113s 
| roe 
Then turning to list to the cannon’s loud thunder, * 
My elbow I lean’d ona rock near the shore ; 
The sounds nearly parted my heart-strings asunder, 
I thought I should see my dear shepherd no more. 
But soon an express all my sorrow. suspended, 
My thanks to the Father of mercies ascended, 
My shepherd was safe, and my country defended, 
By freedom’s brave sons on the banks of Champlain. 


I wip’d from my eye the big tear that had started, 

And hasten’d the news to my parents to bear, 

Who sigh’d for the loss of relations departed, 

And wept at the tidings that banished their care. 
The cannons now ceas’d, the drums still were beating, 
The foes of our country far north were retreating, 
The neighb’ring damsels each other were greeting, 
With songs of delight on the banks of Champlain. 


Our squadron triumphant, our army victorious, 
With laurels unfaded, our Spartans return’d ; 
My eyes never dwelt on a scene half so glorious, 

My heart with such rapture before never burn’d, 
But Sandy, my darling, that moment appearing, 
His presence to every countenance cheering, 
Was render’d to me more doubly endearing, 

By feats he performed on the banks of Champlain. 


But should smiling Beace with her blessings and trea- 
sures, 
Soon visit the plains of Columbia again, 
What pen can describe the enrapturing pleasures, 
That I shall experience through life with my swain. 
For then no wild savage will come to alarm us, 
Nor worse British foes send their minions to harm us, 
But nature and art will continue to charm us, 
While happy we live on the banks of Champlain. 





KATE KEARNEY.—By Miss Owenson. 


Oh! did you not hear of Kate Kearney ¢ 
She lives on the banks of Killarney ; 


af wv 


114. THE het’ 9 SONGSTER. 


From the glance of her eye, 
Shun danger and fly, 
For fatal’s the glance of Kate Kearney. 


For that eye is so modestly beaming, 
You’d ne’er think of mischief she’s dreaming ; 
Yet oh! who can tell 
How fatal’s the spell, 
That lurks in the eye of Kate Kearney. 


Oh! should you e’er meet this Kate Kearney, 
Who lives on the banks of Killarney, 
Beware of her smile, 
For many a wile, 
Lies hid in the eye of Kate Kearney. 
Though she looks so bewitchingly simple, 
There’s mischief in every dimple ; j 
And who dares inhale 
Her mouth’s spicy gale, 
Must die by the breath of Kate Kearney. 





ths 
HE’S QUITE THE THING. 


When Charley did his love eonfess, 

In words go sweet he did complain ; 
Pray, ladies, how could I do less, 

Than love this charming youth again: 
For he can dance with graceful ease, 

Can touch with magic skill the string ; 
Form’d ev’ry female heart to please, 

The girls all say he’s quite the thing. 


His teeth are white as mountain snow, 
His sparkling eyes as jet are black ; 
{n short, the truth to let you know, 
There is no charm which he doth lack. 
The merry dance he’ll join with ease, 
Or touch with magic skill the string ; 
Form’d ev'ry female heart to please— 
I'm sure you'll say he’s quite the thing. 


THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 115 


With him I went to sweet Vauxhall, 
And crowds of well dress’d beaux were there ; 
But none I saw amongst them all, 
With my dear Charley could compare. 
Then ladies do not blame me, pray— 
For when he bought a wedding ring 
I blush’d, but could not answer nay— 
Because you know he’s quite the thing. 


orarmecanae? 


_* ~ A LONG MILE. 


One evening of late young Colin I met, 
And the youth he address’d with a smile ; 

He said, pretty maid, shall I see you safe home, — 
As your cottage lies distant a mile—a long mile ? 


When he asked me to go, why, I faintly said no, 
Tho’ my heart it meant yes all the while; 

But I found this fond youth was intending to ge, 
As my cottage lay distant a mile. 


How sweet were the woods and how gentle the groves, 
When he kiss’d me atevery stile; . » 

For how my fond heart in my bosom did beat, 
And I wish’d it was seven long mile. 


Whate’er he requested,. I never said no, 
But I pleas’d him so well with a smile ; 
And if to the church he should ask me to go, 

Vllaway, if it’s seven long mile.. 


And when at our parting he gave me a kiss, 
I was scar’d to myself all the while ; 

But I wish the fond youth soon may return, 
To conduct me another long mile. 





DONE OVER TAILOR, 


A tailor I once was, as blithe as e’er need be, 
- Until love, alas! sure a phantom has made me} 
I that once was so lusty, was call’d Will the rover, 
Am now a poor skeleton—Oh! I’m done over. 
I 


eS 
Po rae & i» 


& 


116 THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 


How many a day have I sat with great pleasure, 
And cut out my cloth tomy customers’ measure, 
With a full yard for cabbage—t liv’d then in Dover ; 
But Sue’s cruel charms have me fairly done over. 


When first I beheld her pass by my shop window, 
_ My goose being hot burnt a sleeve to a cinder ; 

O! the girls do so jeer me that I can go no where, 

Was ever poor tailor so fairly done over. 


- The last time I saw her was with a bold sailor, 
She sneer’d, ‘and said, there’s the done over tailor ; 
Good bye, Mr. Stitch-cloth, ’m going to Dover— 
Was ever poor tailor so fairly done over. 
So now she has left me and gone with the sailor, 
Thus left me alone—a poor done over tailor— 
I ne’er will cabbage, or be Will the rover, 
God grant I-was dead, for I’m surely done over. 





HOME, SWEET HOME.—By J. H. Payne. 


‘Mid pleasures and palaces, though we may roam, 
Be it ever so humble, there’s no place like home ; 
A charm from the skies seems to hallow us there, 
Which, seek through the world, is not met with else- 
where ; 
Home, home—sweet, sweet home! 
ail no place like home, there’s no place like 
ome. 


An exile from home, splendour dazzles in vain ; 
Oh! give me my lonely thatch’d cottage again, 
Where the birds sing gaily, that came at my call; 
Give me these; with the peace of mind dearer than all; 
Home, home—sweet, sweet home ; 
sie no place like home, there’s no place like 
ome. 





THE FARMER’S DAUGHTER. 


Where are you going, my pretty maid? 
Where are you going, my pretty maid * 


mae 
mac ae 


FHE WESTERN SONGSTER. 117 


I’m going a milking, sir, she said. ; 
I’m going a milking, sir, she said, 
Witha ha, ha, ha, ha! 
May I go with you, my pretty maid? 
May I go with you, my pretty maid? 
It’s just as you please, kind sir, she said ; 
It’s just as you please, kind sir, she said, 
With a ha, ha, ha, ha! 
What is your father, my pretty maid? 
What is your father, my pretty maid? 
My father’s a farmer, sir, she said ; 
My father’s a farmer, sir, she said, 
With a ka, ha, ha, ha! 


Then I will marry you; my pretty maid } 
Then I will marry you, my pretty maid ; 
It’s not as you please, kind sir, she said ; 
It’s not as you please, kind sir, she said, 
With a ha, ha, ha, ha! 
What is your fortune, my pretty maid? 
What is your fortune, my pretty maid ” 
My face is my fortune, sir, she said ; 
My face is my fortune, sir, she said, 
With a ha, ha, ha, ha! 
Then I can’t marry you, my pretty maid; 
Then I can’t marry you, my pretty maid} 
Nobody ask’d you, sir, she said ; 244 
Nobody ask’d you, sir, she said, 
With a ha, ha, ha, ha! : 


acetal 


THERE’S A BLISS.—By Tf. Moore. 


There’s a bliss beyond all that the minstrel has told, 
When two that are linked in one heavenly tie, 
With hearts never changing and brow never cold, 
Love on through all ills and love on till they die ; 
One hour of a passion so sacred, is worth 

Whole ages of heartless and wandering blias ; 

And oh! if there be an elysium on earth, 


It is this—it is this. 


at; — 


118 


‘ 
yi 


THE WESTERN SONGSTER. _ 


TO SIGH, YET FEEL NO PAIN.—By T. Moore. 


Tosigh, yet feel no pain ; 
To weep, yet scarce know why ; 

To sport an hour with beauty’s chain, 
Then throw it idly by ; 

To kneel at many a shrine, 
Yet lay the heart on none; __ 

To think all other charms divine, 
But those we just have won ; 

This is love—careless love— 

Such as kindleth hearts that rove. 


To keep one sacred flame 
Through life, unchill’d, unmov’d ; 
To love, in wintry age the same — 
That first in youth we lov’d; 
To feel that we adore 
To such refin’d excess, 
That though the heart would break with more. 
We could not live with less ; 
This is love—faithful love,— 
Such as saints might feel above! 





LOVE HAS EYES.—By C. Dibdin. 
Love’s blind they say— 
O! never, nay, ; 
Gan words Love’s grace impart ? 


oe The fancy, weak, 


_. The tongue may speak, 
But eyes alone the heart : 
In one soft look what language lies! 
OQ! yes, believe me, Love has eyes. 
Love’s wing’d, they ery— 
O! neVer, I oy 7) 
No—pinions love to soar; 
Deceivers rove, 
But never Love, p 
Attach’d he moves nomore: __ 
Can he have wings who never flies? 
And yes, believe me, Love has eyes. 


— 4 


THE ae SONGSTER. - 119 


0! SAY NOT WOMAN’S LOVE IS BOUGHT. 
By Pocock. 


O! say not woman’s love is bought 
With vain and empty treasure ; 
O! say not woman’s heart is caught 

By every idle pleasure. . 


When first her gentle bosom knows 
Love’s flame, it wanders never ; 
Deep in her heart the passion glows; 

She loves, and loves for ever. 


O! say not woman’s false as fair ; 
That like the bee she ranges, 

Still seeking flowers mere sweet and rare, 
As fickle fancy changes. . 


Ah! no; the love that first can warm, 
Will leave her bosom never ; 

No second passion e’er can charm; 
She loves and loves for ever. 





THE CYPRESS WREATH. 


© lady, twine no wreath for me, 

Or twine it of the cypress tree ; 

Too lively glow the lilies’ light, 

The yarnish’d holly’s all too bright, 

The May-flower and the gplantine, 

May shade a brow less sad than mine ; mae 
But, lady, weave no wreath for me, » 
Or weave it of the cypress tree! 


Let dimpled mirth his temples twine 
With tendrils of the laughing vine ; 
The manly oak, the pensive yew, 
To patriot and to sage be due ; 
The myrtle bough bids lovers live, . 
But that Matilda will not give ; 
-Then, lady, twine no wreath for me, 
Or twine it of the cypress tree ! 
Let merry England proudly rear 
Her blended roses, bought so dear ; 
12 


ae 
120 THE WESTERN SONGSTER. * 


Let Albion bind her bonnet blue, 

With heath and hare-bell dipp’d in dew ; 
On favour’d Erin’s crest be seen, 

The flower she loves of emerald green— 
But, lady, twine no wreath for me, 

Or twine it of the cypress tree. 


Strike the wild harp, while maids prepare 
The ivy meet for minstrel’s hair ; 

And while his crown of laurel leaves, 
With bloody hand, the victor weaves, 
Let the loud trump his triumph tell,— 
But when you hear the passing bell, 
Then, lady, twine a wreath for me, 

And twine it of the cypress tree. 


Yes! twine for me the cypress. bough ; 
But, O, Matilda, twine not now ! 

Stay till a few brief months are past, 
And I have look’d and lov’d my last! 
When villagers my shroud bestrew 
With pansies, rosemary, and rue— 
Then, lady, weave a wreath for me, 
And weave it of the cypress tree. 





THE LAND OF POTATOES 0O. 


9 had Lin the clear, five hundred a year, 
*Tis myself would not fear, though not added one far- 
thing to it; 
Faith, if such was my lot, little Ireland’s the spot, 
Where I’d build a snug cot, with a bit of garden to it. 
As for Italy’s dales, their Alps and high vales, 
And aaa fine squalling gales, their seignoras so heat 
us O, 
I'd ne’er unto them come, nor abroad ever roam, 
But enjoying my sweet home in the land of pota- 
toes, O. 
Hospitality, all reality, no formality there you’ll ever 
see, 


a 


' THE WESTERN SONGSTER. lel. 


But be so free and easy, that we would amaze you, 
You'll think us all crazy, for dull we can never be. 


if our friend, honest Jack, would but take a small hack, 
So get on his back, and ih joy ride over full to us; 
He throughout the whole year, then should have the 
best cheer, - 
For faith no one’s so dear as our brother John Bull 


to us. 
And we’d teach him when there, both to blunder and 
swear, t 


And our brogue with him share, which both genteel 
and neat is, O. 
By St. Patrick, I think, when we’d teach him to drink, 
That he’d ne’er wish to shrink from the land of pota- 
toes, O. 
Hospitality, &c. 


Though I frankly agree, that I’d more happy be, 
If some heavenly she in this country would favour me; 
For no spot on earth, can more merit bring forth, 
If beauty and worth can embellish, such is the she. 
Good breeding, good nature, you see in each feature, 
So nought you’ve to teach her, so nice and complete 
she’s O; 
Then if fate would but send unto me such a friend, 
What a life could i spend in the land of potatoes, O. 
Hospitality, &c. 





MARY LE MORE. “a 
As I stray’d o’er a common on Cork’s rugged border, 

While the dew-drops of morn the sweet primrosé 
‘ array’d, 

I saw a poor female, whose mental disorder, 

Her quick glancing eye and wild aspect betray’d : 
On the sward she reclin’d, by the green fern surrounded, 
At her side speckled daisies and crow flowers abounded ; 
To its inmost recess her poor heart had been wounded, 

Her sighs were unceasing, ’twas Mary le More. 


$' 


122 THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 


Her charms by the keen blast of sorrow were faded, 
Yet the soft tinge of beauty still play’d on her cheek ; 
Her tresses a wreath of pale primroses braided, 
And strings of fresh daisies hung loose on her neck. 
While with pity I gaz’d, she exclaimed, “Oh! my mo- 
ther! 
See the blood on that lash, ’tis the blood of my brother ; 
They have torn his poor flesh, and they now strip ano- 
ther ; * 
*Tis Connor, the friend of poor Mary le More! 
’Though his locks are as white as the foam of the ocean, 
Those ruffians shall find that my father is brave ;” 
s* My father {”? she cried, with the wildest emotion; 
“ Ah! no, my poor father now sleeps in the grave! 
They have toll’d his death bell, they’ve laid the turf 
o’er him : ie 
His white locks were bloody, no aid can restore him; 
He is gone! he is gone, and the good will deplore him, 
When the blue waves of Erin hide Mary le More!” 


A lark, from the gold blossom’d furze that grew near her, 

Now rose, and with energy caroll’d his lay! 

«Hush! hush!” she continued, “the trumpet sounds 
clearer ; . 

The horsemen approach ; Erin’s daughters away ! 
Ah! Britons, ’twas foul, while the cabin was burning, 
And o’er her pale father a wretch had been mourning ! 
Go hide with the sea mew, ye maids, and take warning, 

Those ruffians have ruin’d poor Mary le More. 
“Away! bring the ointment! Oh! God! see those 

gashes! 7 

Alas! my poor mother come dry the big tear ; 

Anon we’ll have vengeance for those dreadful lashes, 

Already the screech-owls and-ravens appear : 

By day the green grave, that lies under the willow, 

With bili flowers I'll strew, and by night make my pil- 
ow, 

Till Us ooze and dark sea weed, beneath the curl’d bil- 
ow, 

Shall furnish a death-bed for Mary le More.” 


"4 , \ 4 
b 


THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 123». 


Thus ray’d the poor maniac in tones more heart-rending . 
Than sanity’s voice ever pour’d on my ear, 

When lo! on the heath, and their march t?ward her _ 

bending, i 

A trqop of fierce cavalry chanc’d to appear ; 

*Qh, the fiends!’’ she exclaim’d, and with wild harne 
» — Started, 

Then throu eh the tall fern, loudly screaming, she darted = 

With an ovetcharg’d bosom, I slowly departed, 
And sigh’d for the wrongs of poor Mary le More. 





BLACK-EYED SUSAN.—By Gay. 


All in the Downs the fleet was moor’d, 
The streamers waving to the wind, 
When black-ey’d Susan came on board ; 
Oh! where shall J my true love find? 
Tell me, ye jovial sailors, tell me true, 
If my sweet William sails among your crew. 


William, who high upon the yard, 

Rock’d with the billows to and fro, 
Soon as her well known voice he heard, 

He sigh’d, and cast his eyes below; 

The cord glides swiftly through his glowing hands, . 
_ And guick as lightning on the deck he stands. 


So the sweet Jark, high pois’d in air, 
Shuts close his pinions to his breast, 
{chance his mate’s shrill call he hear, . 
And drops at once into her nest. 
The noblest captain in the British fleet 
Might envy William’s lips those kisses sweet. 


O Susan, Susan, lovely dear, - 
_. My vows shall ever true remain ; 
Let me kiss off that falling tear ; 
We only part to meet again. NE 
Change as ye list, ye winds, my heart shall be 
The faithful compass that still points to thee. 


et Pt 


. 
‘\ Ve Ja 
124} TRE WESTERN SONGSTER. ~ re 


Welicve not sii the landsmen says 
‘a Who tempt with doubts thy constant mind; 
aa They’ll tell thee, sailors, when away, 
In every port a mistress find. 
Yes, yes, believe them, when they tell thee so,. 
For thou art present wheresoe’er I go. 


If to fair India’s coast we sail, 
Thy eyes are seen in di’ monds bright ; 
Thy breath is Afric’s spicy gale, 
Thy skin is ivory so white. 
Thus, ev’ry beauteous object that I view, 
Wakes in my soul some charm of lovely Sue. 


Though battle calls me from thy arms, 
Let not my pretty Susan mourn 
Though, cannons roar, yet safe f 2 arms, 
; William ghall to his dear return. 
_ Love turns aside the balls that round me Ay, 
Lest precious tears should drop from Sus ’s eye. 






The boatswain gave the dreadful word, 
The sails their swelling bosoms spread ; 
No longer must she stay aboard— 
They kiss’d—she sigh’d; he hung his head. 
Her less’ning boat unwilling rows to land ; 
Adieu! she cries, and wav’d her lily hand. 





“BAY OF BISCAY, 0!”—By Cherry.” 


Loud roar’d the dreadful thunder, 
The rain a deluge show’rs ; 
‘The clouds were rent asunder, 
By lightning’s vivid powers. 
The night both drear and dark ; 
Our poor devoted bark, 
Till next day, 
There she lay, 
In the Bay of Biscay 0! iS 





THE WESTERN-SONGSTER. _ 125 


Now dash’d upon the billows, “rg 
Our op’ning timbers creak— hey 
Each fears a wat’ry pillow, ee 
None stops the dreadful leak. : 
To climb the slippery shrouds, 
Each breathless seaman crowds, 
As she lay, 
Till the day, 
In the Bay of Biscay O! 
At length the wish’d for morrow, ao 
Broke through the hazy sky ; ; 
Absorb’d in silent sorrow, 
Kach heay’d the bitter sigh! 
The dismal wreck to view, 
‘Struck horror to the crew, 
od he lay, 
- Qn that day, 
_. Yn the Bay of Biscay O! 
Her yielding timbers sever, 
Her pitchy seams are rent; 
When Heaven, all bounteous ever, 
Its boundless mercy sent— 
Hae. A sail in sight appears, 
We hail her with three cheers! 
Now we sail 
With the gale, 
From the Bay of Biscay O! 












CHERRY-CHEEK PATTY. 


Down in yon village I live so snug, 

They cali me Giles the ploughman’s boy ; Ric, 
Through woods and o’er stiles, as I trudge many mile 
-I whistle, I whistle, and whoop, gee woo, Jerry. 

My work being done, to the lawn there I fly, 

Where the lads at the lasses all look very sly ; 

And I’ze deeply in love with a girl, it is true, 

And I know what I know, but I munna tell you: 


126 THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 


But Pll whistle, Pil whistle, for of all the girls I e’er 
did see, Wie . | 
fs O, cherry-cheek Patty for me. » 


Though the squire so great, so happy may’nt be 

As poor simple Giles the ploughman’s boy ; 
-No matters of state ever addle my pate, 
But Pll whistle, Vl whistle, and whoop, gee woo, Jerry. 
Now cherry-cheek Patty she lives in a vale, 

Whom If help’d o’er the stile with her milking pail ; 
And Patty has a like notion of-me, it is true, 
And I know what I know, but I munna tell you: 

- But Pll whistle, &c. 


I’ze able and strong, and willing to work, » 
And when the lark rises, off trudges I; 
The cows up I call, and harness old Ball, 
I whistle, I whistle, and whoop, gee woo, Jerry. 
Then I’ze fifty good shillings, my luck has been such, 
And a Jad’s not to be grinn’d at that’s gotten so much 
And when that I’m married to Patty so true, 
i know what Iknow, but I munna tell you : 

But Pil whistle, &c. 


9 


CONJUGAL COMFORT. 


** Dear John, prithee tell me,” cried Ruth, 
To Gubbins, her husband, one day, 
** Dost not think,.in good sooth, — 
E should swear but the truth, 
Did I swear what I am going to say? 
That wedlock’s a state, ie 
tn good humour, that fate 
Contrived to bless woman and man 
And that Giles here’s an ass, _ 
Who such fortune lets pass ?— 
All should marry as soon as they can.” 


“Why, Goody,” cried Gubbins, you know 
My thoughts of the thing ’fore to day ; 


THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 127 


Nor, as I shall show, 
Need one many miles go, 
To prove what I’m going to say. 
Did wives ever scold, 
Were they ugly or old, 
A spouse were a miserable man : 
But smooth is their tongue, 
They’re all comely and young !— 
Giles, get married as soon as you can. 


‘* If one’s children one wish’d in their graves, 
Still plaguing one day after day ; 
The girls fashion’s slaves, 
The boys puppies and knaves, 
One then might have something to say : 
But brats are no evil, 
They ne’er play the devil; 
Nor have wives from their duty e’er ran ; 
Then since, my friend Giles, 
Wedlock greets you with smiles, 
Get married as soon as you can.” 


Cried Ruth, “ Will you let your tongue run? 
Here, you scurvy old villain, I rule!” 
“ Rogues there are,” said the son, 
“ But, old Quiz, am I one?” 
Cried the daughter, ‘ My father’s a fool!” 
«¢ Don’t you see,” Gubbins cried, 
“‘ ’ve the tenderest bride, 
And best children that ever bless’d man ? 
Giles would you be driven 
To bedlam or heaven, 
Get married as soon as you can !” 





DRINK TO ME ONLY WITH THINE EYES. 
By Ben Jonson. 
Drink to me only with thine eyes, 
“And I will pledge with mine; 
Or leave a kiss but in the cup, 
And I’ll not look for wine. 
K 





128 


THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 


The thirst that from my soul doth rise 
Doth ask a drink divine ; 

But might I of Jove’s nectar sip, 
I would not change for thine. 


E sent thee late a rosy wreath, 
Not so much honouring thee, 

As giving it a hope, that there 
It would not wither’d be. 


But thou thereon didst only breathe, 
And sent it back to me: 

Since then, it grows, and looks, and smells, 
Not of itself, but thee. 





HOW STANDS THE GLASS? 


How stands the glass around? 
For shame, ye take no care, my boys; 
How stands the glass around ? 
Let mirth and wine abound. 
The trumpets sound, 
The colours they are flying, boys; 
To fight, kill, or wound; 
May we still be found, 
Content with our hard fate, my boys, 
On the cold ground. 


Why, soldiers, why 
Should we be melancholy, boys? 
Why, soldiers, why, 
Whose business ’tis to die— 
What—sighing? fie! 
Don’t fear, drink on, be jolly, boys; 
-?Tis he, you, or I, 
Cold, hot, wet, or dry, 
We're always bound to follow, boys; 
And scorn to fly, 
( *Tis but in vain, 
{I mean not to upbraid you 
°Tis but in ith sida this 2 
For soldiers to complain: 
Should next campaign 


THE WESTERN SONESTER, 129 


Send us to Him who made us, boys, 
We’re free from pain; 
But if we remain, 

A bottle and kind landlady 
Cure all again. 


—— rn 


iS THERE A HEART THAT NEVER LOVED? 


Is there a heart that never loved, 
Nor‘ felt. soft woman’s sigh ? 
Is there a man can mark unmoved 
Dear woman’s tearful eye? 
Qh! bear him to-some distant shore, 
Or solitary cell, 
Where nought but savage monsters roar, 
Where love ne’er deign’d to dwell, 


For there’s a charm in woman’s eye, 
A language in her tear, 
A spell in every sacred sigh, 
To love—to virtue dear: 
And he who can resist her smiles 
With brutes alone should live, 
Nor taste that joy which care beguiles—~ 
That joy her virtues give. 





LOVE AMONG THE ROSES, 


Young love flew to the Paphian bower, 
And gather’d sweets from many a flower; 
From roses and sweet jessamine, 

The lily and the eglantine : 

The Graces there were culling posies, 
And found young Love among the roses. 


Oh happy day! O joyous hour! 
Compose a wreath from every flower; 

- Let’s bind him to us, ne’er to sever, 
Young Love shall dwell with us for ever; 
Eternal spring the wreath composes, 
Gontent to live among the roses. - 

Young Love among the roses, &f. 


18@ THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 


AWAY WITH MELANCHOLY. 


Away with melancholy, 
Nor doleful changes ring, 
On life and human folly, 
But merrily, merrily sing— 
Fal la. 
Gome on, ye rosy hours, 

Gay smiling moments bring ; 
We'll strew the way with flowers, 
And merrily, merrily sing— 

Fal la. 
Then what’s the use of sighing, 
While time is on the wing ; 
Can we prevent his flying? 
Then merrily, merrily sing— 
' Fal la. 
If griefs, like April showers, 
A moment’s sadness bring, 
Joys soon succeed like flowers, 
Then cheerily, cheerily sing— 
Fal la. 
The rose its bloom refuses, 
_ If pluck’d not in the spring; 
Life soon its fragrance loses, 
Then cheerily, cheerily sing— 
Fal la. 


Fly, fly all dull emotion, 
All care away we fling ; 
Pure joy is our devotion, — 
Then cheerily, cheerily sing— 
Fal la 


FAREWELL TO LOCHABER. 


Farewell to Lochaber, and farewell my Jean, 
Where heartsome with thee I ha’e mony days been ; 
For Lochaber no more, Lochaber no more, 

We'll may-be return-to Lochaber no more. 


THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 131 


These tears that F shed they are a’ for my dear, 

_ And no for the dangers attending on weir ; 
Tho’ borne on rough seas toa far bloody shore, 

May-be to return to Lochaber no more. 


Tho’ hurricanes rise, and raise ev’ry wind, 

They’ll ne’er make a tempagt like that in my mind; 
Tho’ loudest of thunder on louder waves roar, 
That’s naething like leaving my. love on the shore. 
To leave thee behind me my heart is sair pain’d ; 
But by ease that’s inglorious no fame can be gain’d : 
And beauty and love’s the reward of the brave ; 
And I maun deserve it before I can crave. 


Then glory, my Jeany, maun plead my excuse ; 
Since honour commands me, how,can I refuse ? 
Without it I ne’er can have merit for thee, 

And losing thy favour Id better not be. 

I gae then, my lass, to win glory and fame; 
And if I should chance to come gloriously hame, 
V’ll bring a heart to thee with love running o’er, 
And then I’ll leave thee and Lochaber no more. 





NEW ORLEANS, OR THE SONS OF THE WEST. 
Arrn— John Bull caught a Tartar.” 


Brave sons of the West, your deeds of renown 
Unfold a new scene for the world to admire ; 

Your valour unrivall’d, all Europe will crown 
As a subject for praise and a theme for the lyre ; 

You’ve ennobled the waters on which you were born, 
Mississippi emerges resplendent in story— 

°Mid the scenes that with triumph our country adorn, 
New Orleans arises unequalled in glory, 


Brave sons of the West, the blood in your veins, 
At danger’s approach, waited not fer persuaders ; 
You rush’d from your mountains, your hills and your 
plains , 
And followed your streams to repel the invaders, 
K 2 


1382 THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 
‘ we 
You came, you encountered, you conquer’d the host 
That Britain had dared to debark on your shores ; 
New Orleans forever your valour will boast, 
And Mississippi murmur your praise as it pours. 


Proud leaders of Britain, your fortune behold ! 
Embark’d in “a secret and grand expedition,” 
You sail’d to gain triumphs, and eke to get gold ; 
You landed—marched forward—and met your per- 
dition ! Soe 
The plain of New Orleans, ensanguined and red 
With Britain’s best blood, affords illustration ; 
How many fine columns to conquest were led! 
How few have return’d from the ‘ grand demonstra- 
tion.” | 


: 


At a point 60 remote, you hoped to surprise 
And find a rich city devoid of protection; 
You knew not what faithful and vigilant eyes 
Were watching your movements in every direction : 
With the eye of an eagle when guarding his nest, 
Monnoz saw their fav’rite New Orleans in danger, 
And sent to brave Jackson the sons of the West, 
_ 'To welcome and bury the bones of the stranger. 


Brave sons of the West, all Europe will praise. 

The promptness with which you perform’d your com; 
mission ; 

The world will admit that your conduct displays 
A zeal to move on with a “great expedition :” 

E’en Wellington’s duke, who in France and in Spain, 
‘Oft sacrificed legions of Bonaparte’s martyrs, 

Will swear, when he hears that his generals are slain, 
Our Western backwoodsmen are certainly Tartars. 





ROSALVINA. 
Behold in his soft expressive face 
The well known features here I see, 
And here the gentle smile can trace, 
Which once so sweetly beam’d on me. 


THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 133 
. » 

Ah Rosalvina! that death should sever 
Two hearts that could have lov’d forever, 


Yes, I could fancy I beheld 
In this sweet boy her richer charms; 
Could think, by hope and love impell’d, 
I clasp’d her offspring in my arms. 

My child like this was lovely ever, 

Till death decreed our hearts to sever, 





COLUMBIA. 


_ Columbia! Columbia! to glory arise, 

The queen of the world, and the child of the skies; 
Thy genius commands haw ith raptures behold, 
While ages on ages thy splendours unfold : 

Thy reign is the last and the noblest of time, 

Most fruitful thy soil, most inviting thy clime ; 
Let crimes of the east ne’er encrimson thy name, 
Be freedom and science, and virtue thy fame. 


To conquest and slaughter let Europe aspire, 
Whelm nations in blood, wrap cities in fire ; 

Thy heroes the rights of mankind shall defend, 
And triumph pursue them and glory attend. 

A world is thy realm, for a world be thy laws, 
Enlarg’d as thy empire, and just as thy cause ; 
On freedom’s broad basis, that empire shall rise, 
Extend with the main, and dissolve with the skies. 


Fair science her gate to thy sons shall unbar, 

And the east see thy morn hide the beams of her stag; 
New bards and new sages unrivall’d shall soar, 

To fame. unextinguish’d, when time is no more. 

To the last refuge of virtue design’d, 

Shall fly from all nations, the best of mankind ; 
There, grateful to heaven, with transport shall bring, 
Their incense, more fragrant than odours of spring. 


Nor less shall thy fair ones to glory ascend, 

And genius and beauty in harmony blend ; 
Their graces of form shall awake pure desire, 
And the charms of the soul still enliven the fire : 


134. THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 

yale 
Their sweetness unmingled, their manners refin’d, 
And virtue’s bright image enstamp’d on the mind; 
With peace and sweet rapture shall teach life to glow, 
And light up a smile in the aspect of wo. 


Thy fleets to all regions thy power shall display, 

The nations admire, and the ocean obey; 

Each shore to thy glory its tribute unfold, 

And the east and the south yield their spices and gold ; 
As the day-spring unbounded thy splendours shall flow, 
And earth’s little kingdoms before thee shail bow ; 
While the ensigns of union in triumph unfurl’d, 

Hush anarchy’s. sway, and give peace to the world. 


Thus down a lone valley with cedars o’erspread, 
From the noise of the town I pensively stray’d, 
The bloom from the face of fair heaven retir’d, 
The wind ceas’d to murmur, the thunders expir’d ; 
Perfumes, as of Eden, flow’d sweetly along, 

And a voice, as of angels, enchantingly sung, 
Columbia ! Columbia! to glory arise, 

The queen of the world, and the child of the skies. 





THE WAY¥-WORN TRAVELLER. 
Faint and wearily, the way-worn traveller 
Plods, uncheerily, afraid to stop ; 
Wand’ring drearily, and sad unraveller 
Of the maze towards the mountain’s top. 
Doubting, fearing, while his course he’s steering, 
Cottages appearing as he’s nigh to drop— 
Oh! how briskly then the way-worn traveller 
Treads the maze towards the mountain’s top. 


Though so melancholy day has pass’d by, 
*T would be folly to think on’t more ; 
Blithe and jolly he the can holds fast by, 
As he’s sitting at the goatherd’s door: - 
Eating, quaffing, at past labour laughing, 
Better far by half in spirits than before— 
Oh! how merrily the rested traveller 
Sings while sitting at the goatherd’s door. 


rae 
THE. WESTERN SONGSTER. | 135 
Hoag 


THE KNIGHT ERRANT.—By W. Scott. 


It vi Dunois, the young and brave, was bound for Pa- 
estine, 
But first he made his orisons before St. Mary’s shrine ; — 
** And grant, Immortal Queen of Heaven,” was still the 
soldier’s prayer, 
“That I may prove the bravest knight, and love the 
fairest fair.” 


His oath of honour on the shrine he graved it with his 
sword, 

And follow’d to the Holy Land the banner of his lord; 

Where faithful to his noble vow, his war-cry fill’d the 
air,— 

** Be honour’d aye the bravest knight, beloy’d the fair- 
est fair.” 


They owed the conquest to his arm, and then his liege 
lord said, 

* The heart that has for honour beat, by bliss must be 
repaid ;— . 

My daughter Isabel and thou shall be a wedded pair, 

For thou art brayest of the brave, she fairest of the fair.” 


And then they bound the holy knot before St. Mary’s 


shrine, 

That makes a paradise on earth, if hearts and hands 
combine ; 

And every lord and lady bright that were in chapel 
there, 


Cried ‘“‘Honour’d be the bravest knight, beloved the 
fairest fair.” 
. noe 
THO’ LOVE IS WARM AWHILE.—S. G. Arnold, 


.. Tho’ love is warm awhile, 
Soon it grows cold ; 
Absence soon blights the smile, 
When it grows old! 


“136 ‘SHE WESTERN SONGSTER. 


Dearest, thy love was mine, 

My ev’ry thought was thine; _. 

Thus did our hearts entwine 
Ere love was cold. 


But could thy bosom prove 
Faithful, my fair! 

Could’st thou still fondly love, 
Still absence bear? 

Oh! it is sweet to be 

Lov’d, as I was, by thee; 

But if thou’rt false to me, 

Welcome despair! 





WILLIAM TELL.—F. Reynolds. 


When William Tell was doom’d to die, 
Or hit the mark upon his infant’s head— 
The bell toll’d out, the hour was nigh, 
And soldiers march’d with grief and dread ! 
The warrior came serene and mild, 
Gaz’d all around with dauntless look, 
Till his fond boy unconscious smil’d ; 
Then nature and the father spoke. 
And now, each valiant Swiss his grief partakes, 
For they sigh, 
And wildly cry, 
Poor William Tell! once hero of the lakes. 


But soon is heard the muffled drum, 
And straight the pointed arrow flies ; 
The trembling boy expects his doom, 
All, all shriek out—* he dies! he dies !”’ 
When lo! the lofty trumpet sounds! 
The mark is hit! the child is free ! 
Into his father’s arms he bounds, 
Inspir’d by love and liberty ! 
And now each valiant Swiss their joy partakes, 
For mountains ring, 
Whilst they sing, 
Live William Tell! the hero of the lakes. 


THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 137 


THE BEACON, OR LIGHT-HOUSE. 


The scene was more beautiful far to my eye, 
Than if day in its pride had array’d it ; 

The land breeze blew mild, and the azure arch’d sky 
Look’d pure as the spirit that made it. 

The murmur rose soft as I silently gaz’d 
On the shadowy waves’ playful motion, 

From the dim distant isle, till the beacon fire blaz’d 
Like a star in the midst of the ocean. 


No longer the joy of the sailor boy’s breast, 
Was heard in his wildly breath’d numbers ; 

The sea bird had flown to her wave girdled nest, 
The fisherman sunk to his slumbers ; 

One moment I look’d from the hill’s gentle slope, 
(All hush’d was the billows’ commotion) 

And thought that the beacon look’d lovely as hope, 
That star of life’s tremulous ocean. 


The time is long past, and the scene is afar ; 
Yet, when my head rests on its pillow, 

Will memory sometimes rekindle the star 
_ That blazed on the breast of the billow. 
In life’s closing hour, when the trembling soul flies, 
And death stills the heart’s last emotion; 

O! then may the seraph of mercy arise 
Like a star on eternity’s ocean! 





THE BRAES OF BALQUHITHER.—Tazanahi!: 
Arr—* The three Carls a? Buchanan.” — 


Let us go, lassie, go 

To the braés of Balquhither, 
Where the blae-berries grow . 

. Mong bonnie Highland heather ;, 

Where the deer and the rae, 

Lightly bounding together, 
Sport the lang summer day 

On the braes of Balquhither. 





+s 


& 


38 THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 


J will twine thee a bow’r, 

By the clear siller fountain, 
And Pll cover it o’er 

Wi’ the flow’rs o’ the mountain ; 
I will range through the wilds, 

And the deep glens sae dreary, 
And return wi’ their spoils 

To the bow’r o’ my dearie. 


When the rude wintry win’ 

Idly raves round our dwelling, 
And the roar of the linn 

On the night breeze is swelling, 
So merrily we'll sing 

As the storm rattles o’er us, 
Till the dear sheeling ring 

Wi’ the light lilting chorus. 


Now the summer is in prime 
WY the flow’rs richly blooming, 
And the wild mountain thyme, 
A’ the moorland perfuming! 
To our dear native scenes 
Let us journey together, 
Where glad innocence reigns 
Mang the braes of Balquhither. 





CROOS-KEEN LAWN. 


Let the farmer praise his grounds, 
As the huntsman does his hounds, 
And the shepherd his sweet scented lawn, 
While I more blest than they, > 
Spend each happy night and day " k 4 
’ With my smiling little Croos-keen lawn, lawn, lawn, 
Oh, my smiling little Croos-keen lawn. 
Leante ruma Croos-keen 
Sleante gar ma voor meh neen © 
Agus gramachree ma cooleen ban, ban, ban, 
Agus gramachree ma cooleen ban. 


- Without his cheerful glass, 


* 


THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 139 


in court with manly grace, 
Should Sir Toby plade his case, 
And the merits of his cause make known, 
He’d be stupid as an ass, 
So he takes’a little Croos-keen lawn. 
Leante ruma, &c., 


Then fill your glasses high, 
Let’s not part with lips so dry, 
Though the lark should proclaim it-is dawn 
But if we cant remain, 
May we shortly meet again, 
To fill another\Croos-keen lawn. 
Leante ruma’&c., 


And when grim death appears, 
After few but happy years, : 
And tells me my glass it is ran, 
Vll say, begone you slave, 
For great Bacchus gives me lave t Dy 
Just to fill another Croos-keen lawn. 
Leante ruma, &c. 





HARD TIMES. 
Tune—* Robin Adair.’ 

What’s this dull town to me? . 

No cash is here! 
Things that we used to see, 

Now don’t appear. 
Where’s all the Plattsburgh bills, — 
Silver dollars, cents and mills ? eS 
Oh! we must check our wills, aie Py 

No cash is here, iT 


"What made the city shine? 
Money was here. 
What makes the lads repine ? 
No cash is here. ~ 
Tanen esi ; 


140 


‘ie gre I 8 


THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 


What makes the farmer sad, 
Factors crazy, merchants.mad ? 
Oh! times are very bad— 

No cash is here. ° 


@h ! curse upon the banks, 
No credit’s there. 


‘They issue nought but blanks, 


No cash is there. 
Hard times, the men do cry ; 
Hard times, the women sigh ; 
Ruin and misery, 
' No cash is here! 





NOTHING TRUE BUT HEAVEN. : 


This world is all a fleeting show, 
For man’s illusion given; 
The smiles of Joy, the tears of Wo, 
Deceitful shine, deceitful low— 
There’s nothing true but Heaven ! 
And false the light on Glory’s plume, 
As fading hues of even ; 
And Love, and Hope, and Beauty’s bloam, 


_ Are blossoms gathered for the tomb-—— 


wk. 
aes 


“Written by J. M’Creery and sung Sy a gentleman of 


There’s nothing bright but Heaven! 


Poor wanderers of a stormy day ! 
From wave to wave we’re driven ; 

And Fancy’s flash, and Reason’s ray, 

Serve but to light the troubled way— 
There’s nothing calm but Heaven! 









SONG, 


a 
Petersburg at a Public Dinner. : 
Tuxrr— Anacreon in Heaven.” 


See Decatur, our hero, returns to the west, 


Who's 


3 destined to shine in the annals of story ; 


A bright ray of vict’ry beams high on his crest, 
. Encircled, his brows by a halo of glory. 


iid a ail 
THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 141 


On Afric’s bleak shore, 
From the insolent Moor, 
His bloody stained laurels in triumph he tore, 
Where the crescent which oft spread its terrors afar, 
Submissively bowed to Columbia’s star. 


Algiers’ haughty Dey in the height of his pride, . 
From American freemen a tribute demanded ; 
Columbia’s brave freemen the tribute denied, 
And his corsairs:‘to seize our bold tars were commanded. 
Their streamers wave high, 
But Decatur draws nigh, 
His name strikes like lightning—in terror they fly ; 
Thrice welcome our hero, returned from afar, 
Where the proud crescent falls to Columbia’s star. 


ee OLD TOWLER.—By O’ Keefe. 


Bright chanticleer proclaims the dawn, 
And spangles deck the thorn ; 
The lowing herds now quit the lawn, 
The lark springs from the corn. 
Dogs, huntsmen, round the window throng, _ 
Fleet Towler leads the cry; ~ ey 
Arise, the burden of their song— 
This day a stag must die! . 
With a hey, ho, chivey ! 
Hark forward, hark forward, tantivy, &c. 


The cordial takes its merry round, _ . 
The laugh and joke prevail; id ' 
The huntsman blows a jovial sound, 
The dogs snuff up the gale; | 
The upland winds they sweep along, 
O’er fields, through brakes they fly ; 
The game is rous’d, too true the Rong = 
| This day a stag must die! — pee 
With a hey, ho, &c. 


fee 





i. ae ‘s Fie 2 
142 THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 


Poor stag! the dogs thy haunches gore, 
The tears run down thy face; 
The huntsman’s pleasure is no more ; 
His joys were in the chase. 
101 smen of the town, 
The virgin game in view, 
Are full content to run them down, 
. Then they in turn pursue. 
With a hey, ho, &c. 








THE MAIL COACH. 


Come listen to my story; 
Now seated in my glory, 
We make no longer stay ; 
A bottle of good sherry 
Has made us all quite,merry, 
_ Let Momus rule the day 
We hearty all and well are, ” 
Drive to the White Horse Cellar, 
Get a snack before we go— 
Bring me a leg of mutton, 
I’m as hungry as a glutton, 
Some gravy soup Hall 
Spoken.] Why, waiter !—Coming, sir.—Make ree! 
do; I shall lose my place!—Coming in a moment, sir, 
just take care of No. 1.—Ten minutes good yet, sir.—t 
hope your honour will remember honest Dick the host- 
ler. Remember! damme, I shall never forget you.— 
Why, waiter, and be damin’d to you, is my soup ready ? 
—Just put on the gridiron—Joseph, vill you let me have 
yaagme table-beer?—Just put into the poty ma’am.- 
Waiter !—Sir.—Are my steaks ready i=No, sir; bu 
_ your chops are.—Any passengers for the Glo’ster. Mail : 4 
—Yes, young man, I’m going by the Glo’ster Mail, the 
moment I can get my change.—Can’t wait for your 
change; if ’m not at Lombard Street by seven o’clock — 
to receive, the bags, I shall get : over the coals. 
(Horn.) old | 2 








eal 


Pl 


THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 143 


Away, away, we rattle, 

Such crowds of men and cattle ; 
Crack whip, they dash away, 
They dash away, they dash away. 
What a cavalcade of coaches - 

On every side approaches, 

What work for man and beast! 
To have a little drop, sir, . 
We first of all must stop, sir, 

Then afterwards make haste ;. 
T mount—the whip I crack now, 
All bustle, what a pack now 

On every side approach; 

Now making sad grimaces, 
All for the want of placeg, 
They cry—l’ve lost the Coach, 


Spoken. | How’s this? P’'m sure my name was book’d, 
—Very likely, ma’am, but not here.—Mr. Coachman, 
any room for two females ?’—None at all for females; 
this is a male coach. (Laugh.) Tie a handkerchief 
round your neck, Billy.—Yes, papa; give my duty to 
grandmama,—I will, my love.—Good bye, papa— Good 
ee my loye.—All right behind, cut’em along. (Horn.) 

Away, away, we rattle, &e, 
Four in hand from Piccadilly, 
Now seated in the dilly, . 
Off we scamper all ; my 
What merry wags and rai 
What jolly dogs and sailors, 
Begun to sing and bawl, 
From every place we start 1 









Some company depart no} vy a 

And others come, no doubt ; pe 

/ For plenty there’s of room now, hy 

And any one may come ney ie a 

asp ‘Four insides and Nate | . 

Spoken.] I say, you lobster at 1elm, have you got 
any room aboard ?—Plenty of room, my jolly masters ; 
there is only four inside anda fat common-coun ilman.— 


L 2 iat a Pas 


ae 


' 
A. 


144 THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 


You’ve put my trunk into the wrong coach.—Never 
‘mind, ma’am; we shall soon overtake it.—Pray, madam, 
- an’t you sitting on my Welch wig ?—Hold your tongue, 
you noisy brute you; you’ve awoke me out of a com- 
fortable nap.--Keep the windows up; I’ve caught cold 
and got a stiff neck —Now, if you please, sir, we’ll set- 
tle legs.—Mit all my shoul, madam.——Hollo! misses, you 
can’t have that there parrot inside; one tongue’s enough 
for a female.—Take care of your heads ( Whip.) and hit 
"em twice ina place. (Horn.) 
Away, away, werattle, &c. 








THE VOICE OF HER I LOVE. 


How sweet, at close of silent eve, 
The harp’s responsive sound! 

How sweet the vows that ne’er deceive. 
And deeds by. virtue crown’d! 

How sweet to sit beneath a tree 
In some delightful grove ! 

But, oh! more soft, more sweet to me 
The voice of her I love ! ; 


Whene’er she joins the village train, 
To hail the new-born day, | 
Mellifluous notes compose each strain, 
Which zephyrs waft away. 
The frowns of fate I calmly bear, 
oe In humble sphere I move, : 
_ Content and bless’d whene’er I hear 
~ The voice of her I love. 





“| WHAT IS LOVE? 
What is love? an idle passion; 
Sage advisers call it so; 
Can I tr oy in their fashion ? 
fonest nature answers, No. Ki 
Wise ones cease ; in vain your preaching’; y 
Age has turn’d your hearts to snow ; 
Can I profit by your teaching ? — ‘ 
“Honest nature answers, No. | 








° 


VHE WESTERN SONGSTER. A pag. 


WHEN LOVELY WOMAN. 


When lovely woman stoops to folly, Ll 
And finds too late that men betray, balsas 
What charm can sooth her melancholy ? 
What art can wash her a, 
The only way her guilt to cover, 
To hide her shame from every eye, 
To give repentance to her lover, 
And wring his bosom, is--to die. 





YO HEAVE HO. 


My name d’ye see’s Tom Tough, I’ve seen a little service 
Where mighty billows roll and loud tempests blow ; 

T have sail’d with valiant Howe, I’ve sail’d with noble 
Jarvis, : 
And in gallant Duncan’s fleet I’ve sung out yo heave ho! 

Yet more shall ye be knowing, 
I was cockswain to Boscawen, 
And even with brave Hawke I’ve nobly faced the foe. 
Then put round the grog, 
, So we’ve that and our prog, 
We'll laugh in care’s face, and sing yo heave ho. 


When from my love to part I first. weigh’d anchor, 
And she was snivelling seen on the beach below, 
Pd like to cotch my eyes.snivelling too, d’ye see to 
thank her, ; 
But I brought my sorrows up with a yo heave ho; 
For sailors though they have their jokes, 
_ They love and feel like other folks, 
Their duty to-neglect must not come for to go ; 
-So I seiz’d the capstan bar, ais 
Like a true honest tar, 
And in spite of tears and sighs sung yo heave ho. 
But the worst on’t was that time, whet é little ones 
were sickly, A ae 
' And if they’d live or die, the doctor did not know; 
The word-was gov’d to weigh so sudden and so quickly, 
I thought my heart would break as I sung yo heave ho, | 
“¢ 


y 


ead 


+ 


14.6 THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 


For Poll’s so like her mother ; 
in And as for Jack, her brother, — 
Phe boy, when he grews up will nobly fight the foe ; 
. But in Providence I trust, 
What must be, must, 
So my sighs I gave the winds, and sung out yo heave ho. 


And now at last, laid up in a decentish condition, 
‘For I’ve only lost an eye and got a timber toe; 
But old ships must expect in time to be out of commis- 
sion, 
Nor again the anchor weigh with a yo heave ho. 
} So I smoke my pipe and sing old songs, 
For my boy-shall revenge my wrongs, 
And my girl shall breed young sailors nobly for to face 
the foe. . sh 
Then to country and king, 
Fate no danger can bring, - 
While the tars of old England sing out yo heave ho. 





I HAVE A SILENT SORROW.—By R. B. Sheridan. 


I have a silent sorrow here, 
A grief I'll ne’er impart ; 

It breathes no sigh, it sheds no tear, 
But it consumes my heart. 

This cherish’d wo, this lov’d despair, 
My lot forever be; ‘ 

So, my soul’s lord, the pangs I bear, 
Be never known by thee. % 


And when pale characters of death, 
Shall mark this alter’d cheek ; 

When my poor wasted trembling breath, 
My life’s last hope would speak, 

I shail not raise my eyes to heaven, 
Nor mercy ask for me ; 

My soul despairs to be forgiven, 
Dopamine love, by thee. 

a at Rex 


4 


bet 1 
THE WESTERN SONGSTER. — 147 


OH! HUSH THE SOFT SIGH. ‘jane 


pe Bue ie soft sigh, maid, and dry the sweet tear, 
To this bosom thy image shall ever be dear: a 
Of hope’s pictured scenes how the colours decay, : 





~And love’s fairy season a8 soon melts away! 


When its balm breathing dew I delighted to sip, 
Did I think a farewell would escape from that lip? 
By honour commanded though far I should roam, 
The loadstone of love will attract me to home. 


At noon when the rose’s warm blush thou shalt see, 
Oh! think of the wreaths thou hast woven for me! 

At night when the moon in mild splendour shall move, 
Oh! view that fair planet, and think how I love. 


1 





THE BANKS OF BANNA. — 


Shepherds, I have lost my love ; 
Have you seen my Anna? 

Pride of every shady grove, 
Upon the banks of Banna. 


I for her my home forsook, 
Near yon misty mountain ; 

Left my flock, my pipe, my crook, 
Greenwood shade, and fountain, 


Never shall I see them more, . 
Until her returning : 

All the joys of life are o’er, 
From gladness changed to mourning. 

Whither is my charmer flown? _ 
Shepherds, tell me whither ? 


ie Ah! wo for me, perhaps she’s gone 


For ever and for ever, 









THE IRISH WEDDING. 


Sure won’t you hear what roaring chee 
Was spread at Paddy’s weddin 


Ps 





ack * fires 


148 THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 


And how so gay they spent the day, 
From churching to the bedding O ? 
First, book in hand, came Father Quipes, 
With the bride’s dadda, the Bailie O, 
While the chaunter with the merry pipes, 
Struck up a lilt so gaily O. 
Tiddery tiddery, &c. ° 


Now there was Mat, and sturdy Pat, 
And merry Morgan Murphy 0, 
And Murdock Mags, and Tirloch Skaggs, 
M‘Laughlin, and Dick Durfey O; 
And then the girls, rigg’d out in white, _ 
Led on by Ted O’Reilly O, 
While the chaunter, &c. 
When Pat was ask’d if his love would last, 
The chapel rung with laughter O ; 
By my soul, says Pat, you may say that, 
To the end of the world and after 0; 
Then tenderly her hand he gripes, 
And kisses her genteelly O, 
While the chaunter, &c. 


‘Then a roaring set at dinner met, 
So frolicsome and so frisky O, 
Potatoes galore, a skirrag or more, 
With a flowing madder of whiskey 0; 
Then round to be sure did’nt go the wipes, 
At the bride’s expense so gaily O, 
While the chaunter, &c. 


And then at night, oh! what delight, 
To see them capering and prancing O! 
An opera or ball were nothing at all, 
Compar’d to the style of their dancing O. 
And then to see old Father Quipes, ~ 
Beating time with his shillelah O, 
While the chaunter, &c. 
And now the knot so sucky are got, 
They’ll go to alec oman rocking O, 
' nay ok al 


1 <iite 
ORY ry 


* 


i: 


( @ THE- WESTERN SONGSTER. . 149° 
Ge . 
While the bridemaids fair so gravely prepare 
For throwing of the stocking O: 
Decadorus we’ll have, says Father Quipes, 
Then the bride was kissed round genteelly O, 
‘While to wish them good fun, the merry pipes, — 
Struck up a lilt so gaily O. " 





SINCE, THEN ?M DOOM’D. , 


Since then I’m doom’d this sad reverse to prove, 

To quit each object of my infant care; } 
’Forn. from an honour’d parent’s tender love, 

And driven the keenest, keenest storm of fate to bear : 
Ah! but forgive me, pitied let me part, 
Your frowns too sure, would break my sinking heart. 


Where’er I go, whate’er my lowly state, 
Yet grateful mem’ry sfill shall linger here !° 

And when, perhaps, you’re musing o’er my fate, 
You still may greet me with a tender tear. 

Ah! then forgive me, pitied let me part, 

Your frowns too sure, would break my sinking heart. 





THE OAK OF OUR FATHERS. 


The oak of our fathers to freedom was dear, 
Its leaves were his crown and its wood was his spear ; 
And its head tower’d high and its branches spread round, 
For its roots were struck deep and its heart it was sound ; 
The bees o’er its honey dew’d foliage play’d, 
And the beasts of the forest fed under its shade ; 
Alas! for the oak of our fathers, that stood, 

‘tn its beauty the glory and pride of the wood. 


Round its bark crept the ivy and clung*to its trunk, 
It struck in its mouths and its juices it drunk; 

Its braiiches grew sickly, depriv’d of their food, 
‘Its towering head droop’d, by its paison subdued ; 
No longer the bees o’er its honey dews play’d, 
Nor the beasts of the forest fed ae its shade ; 


“ 


£50 THE WESTERN SONGSTER. fae 


"Alas! for the oak of our fathers, that stood, . 
_ In its beauty the glory, and pride o of t 







e wood. 


_ The oak has receiv’d its incurs i, 
Guile has loosen’d the roots tho’ the heart may be sound. 
What the trav’lers at distance gre flourishing see, 
Are the leaves of the ivy that ruin’d the tree ; 
Disfigur’d the trunk, in its ruin is seen, 

A monument now what its beauty has been ; 

Alas! for the oak of our fathers, that stood, 

In its beauty the glory and prise of the wood. 





HIGHLAND LADDIE- 


The lawland lads think they are fine, ~ 
But O they’re vain and idly gaudy ; 
‘How much unlike the graceful mien, 

And ge looks of my highland laddie. 
O my bonnie highland laddie, 
My handsome, charming highland laddie ; 

May heay’n still guard, and love reward, 

The lawland lass and her highland laddie. 


If I were free at will to choose, 
To be the wealthiest lawland lady, 
I’d take young Donald without trews, 
* With bonnet blue and belted plaidy. 
O my bonny, &c. 


The brawest beau in Borraws town, 
In a’ his airs, wi’ art made ready, 
€ompar’d to him, he’s but a clown, 
He’s finer far in’s tartan aii 4: 
O my bonny, &c. 


O’er benty hill wi’ him Pll’ run, 
And leave my lawland kin and daddy ; ; 
Frae winter’s cauld and simmer’s sun, 
He’ll screen me wi’ his highland Lint oe 
) my be nF Ma Reel iy 






ie | 
toe THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 151 







A painted room, and silken bed, 
se a lawland laird and lady ; 





Behind a bushy in’s highlarid plaidy. 
O my bonny, &c. 


Few compliments between us pass ; 
I ca’ him my dear highland laddie, 
And he ca’s me his lawland lass, 
__ Syne rows me in beneath his plaidy,, 
¢ O my bonny, &c. 


Nay greater joy I’ll e’er pretend, 
Than that his\love prove true and steady, 
Like mine to him, which ne’er shall end, 
While heav’n preserves my highland laddie. 
O my bonny, &c. 





WHEN THRO’ LIFE. wat 


When through life unblest we rove, 
Losing all that made life dear, 
Should some notes we used to love, 
In days of boyhood, meet our ear ; 
Oh! how welcome breathes the strain ! 
Waking thoughts that long have slept ; 
Kindling former smiles again, 
In faded eyes that long have wept! 


Like the gale that sighs along, 

Beds of oriental flowers, 
In the grateful breath of song, 

That once was heard in happier hours. 
Fill’d with balm the gale sighs on, 

Tho? the flowers have sunk in death ; 
So, when pleasure’s dream is gone, 
Its memory lives in music’s breath! 


Music !—oh! how faint, how weak, 
Language fades before thy spell ! 







152 THE WESTERN SONGSTER.. 


Why should feeling ever speak, 

When thou canst breathe her soul so well? 
Friendship’s balmy words may feign, 

Love’s are even more false than they ; 
Oh! ’tis only music’s strain, 

Can sweetly soothe, and not betray ! 





MARY. | ae 
When first [saw my Mary’s face, 
I kend na weel what ail’d me; angi 
My heart gade flutterin, pittie pat, 
My een began to fail me. 
She’s ay sae genty, trig, and neat, 
A grace does round her hover ; 
Ae look depriv’d me 0’ my heart, 
And I became her lover. 
She’s ay sae bonny, blithe and gay, 
She’s ay sae blithe and cheerie, 
She’s ay sae bonny, blithe and gay, 
O gin I was her dearie. 


Had I Dundas’s hale estate, 
Or Hoptoun’s pride to shine in; 
Did warlike laurels crown my head, 
Wi?’ safter bays entwinin ; 
¥d lay them a’ at Mary’s feet, 
Could I but hope to move her, 
And prouder than a squire or knight, 
I'd be when Mary’s lover. 
She’s ay sae bonny, &c. 





But O I’m fear’d some bonnier lad, 
Will gain my Mary’s favour; 

If sae, may every bliss be her’s, 
Though I maun never have her: 

For gang she east, or gang she west, 
*Twixt Forth and Clyde all over, 

While men have ears, or eyes, or taste, 
She’ll always find a lover. 


» 


a 


THE WESTERN SONGSTER. F5; 


ou 
Co 


She’s ay sae bonny, blithe and gay, 
She’s ay sae blithe and cheerie, 
She’s ay sae bonny, blithe and gay, 

O gin I was her dearie. 





* BEAM OF TRANQUILLITY. 


A beam of tranquillity smil’d in the west, 
The storms of the morning pursued us no more ; 
And the wave, while it welcom’d the moment of rest, 
Still heav’d, as remembering ills that were o’er ! 


Seveneytny heart took the hue of the hour, 
Its passions were sleeping, were mute as the dead; 
And the spirit becalm’d, but remember’d their power, 
As the billow the form of the gale that was fled ! 


I thought of the days, when to pleasure alone 
My heart ever granted a wish orasigh; > 
When the saddest emotion my bosom had known, 
Was pity for those who were wiser than I! 


I felt how the pure, intellectual fire 
In luxury loses its heavenly ray ; 
How soon in the lavishing cup of desire, 
The pearl of the soul may be melted away ! 


And I pray’d of that Spirit who hghted the flame, 
_ That pleasure no more might its purity dim ; 
And that sullied but little, or brightly the same, 
I might give back the gem I had borrow’d from him ! 


The thought was ecstatic! I felt as if Heaven 
Had already the wreath of eternity shown : 

As if, passion all chasten’d and error forgiven, 
My heart had begun to be purely its own! 


1 look’d-to the west, and the beautiful sky _ 

Which morning had clouded, was clouded no mere— 
*QOh! thus,” I exclaim’d, “ can.a heavenly eye 

Shed light on the soul that was darken’d before |” 


154 THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 


AVENGING AND BRIGHT FELL THE SWIFT 
* SWORD OF ERIN. 


Arr.—* Crooghan a Venee.”’ 


Avenging and bright fell the swift sword of Erin, 
On him who the sons of Usna betray’d ; 
For ev’ry fond eye which waken’d a tear in, 
A drop from his heart-wounds shall weep o’er her 
blade. 


By the red cloud that hung over Connor’s dark dwell- 


Ing Pn 
When Ulad’s three champions lay sleeping in gore ; 
By the billows of war which so often, high swelling, 
Have wafted these heroes to victory’s shore— 


We swear to revenge them !—no joy shall be tasted, 
The harp shall be silent, the maiden unwed, 

Our halls shall be mute, and our fields shall lie wasted, 
Till vengeance is wreak’d on the murderer’s head! 


Yes, monarch ! tho’ sweet are our home recollections, 
Tho’ sweet are the tears that from tenderness fall ; 
Tho’ sweet are our friendships, our hopes, and affec 

tions, 
Revenge on a tyrant is sweetest of all! 





CEASE, O CEASE TO TEMPT. 


Cease oh! cease to tempt my tender heart to love, 
It never, never can so wild a flame approve ; 
All its joys, and pains, to others I resign, 
But be the vacant heagt, the careless bosom mine. 
Then cease, oh! cease to tempt my tender heart to loye, | 
ft never can so wild a flame approve. : 
Say, ob! say no more that lovers’ pains are sweet! 
} never, never can believe the fond deceit, 
Thou lov’st the wounded heart, 
I love to wander free; 
So, keep thou Cupid’s dart, 
And leave his wings for me: 





THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 155 


THE FAREWELL TO MY HARP. 
Arin— New Langolee.” 


Dear Harp of my Country! in darkness I feund thee, 
The cold chain of silence had hung o’er thee long, 

When proudly, my own island Harp! I unbound thee, 
And gave all’thy chords to light, freedom, and song! 

The warm lay of love, and the light note of gladness, 
Have waken’d thy fondest, thy liveliest thrill ; 

But so oft hast thou echoed the deep sigh of sadness, 
That e’en in thy mirth it will steal from thee still, 


Dear Harp of my Country! farewell to thy numbers, 
This sweet wreath of song is the last we shall twine ; 

Go,—sleep with the sunshine of fame on thy slumbers, 
Till touch’d by some hand less unworthy than mine. 
If the pulse of the patriot, soldier, or lover, 

' Have throbb’d at our lay, ’tis thy glory alone; 

I was but as the wind, passing heedlessly over, 
And all thy wild sweetness I wak’d was thy own! 


* 





WILT THOU BE MY DEARY? 
Arn.—* The Sutor’s Dochier.? 


Wilt thou be my dearie ? 
When sorrow wrings thy gentle heart, 
O wilt thou let me cheer thee? 
By the treasure of my soul, 
And that’s the love I bear thee! 
I swear and vow, that only thoy 
Shall ever be my dearie. 
Only thou, I swear and vow, 
Shall ever be my dearie. 


Lassie, say thou lo’es me; 
"Or if thou wilt na be my ain, 
Say na thou'lt refuse me: 
If it winna, canna be, 
M 2 . 


156 


THE WESTERN SONGSTER: 


Thou, for thine, may chuse me; 


Let me, lassie, quickly die, 


Trusting that thou lo’es me. 


Lassie, let me quickly die, 
Trusting that thou lo’es me. 





A RED, RED ROSE.—By Burns. 


O my luve’s like a red, red rose, 
That’s newly sprung in June ; 

O my luve’s like the melody 
That’s sweetly play’d in tune. 


As fair art thou, my bonnie lass, 
So deep in luve am 1: 

And I will luve thee still, my dear, 
*Till a’ the seas gang dry. | 


"Till a’ the seas gang dry, my dear, 
And the rocks melt wi’ the sun: 

k will luve thee still, my dear, 
While the sands o’ life shall run. 


And fare thee weel, my only luve! 
And fare thee weel, a while! 

And I will come again, my luve, 
Tho’ it were ten thousand mile, 





THE BONIE LAD THAT’S FAR AWA, 
0 how can I be blithe and glad, 


Or how can I gang brisk and braw, 


When the bonie lad that I lo’e best, 


Is o’er the hills and far awa? 


Its no the frosty winter wind, 


Its no the driving drift and snaw ; 


But ay the tear comes in my e’e, 


To think on bim that’s far awa. 


THE WESTERN SONGSTER. | 147 


My father pat me frae his door, 

My friends they hae disown’d me 2’. 
But I hae ane will tak my part, 

The bonie lad that’s far awa. 


A pair 0’ gloves he gave to me, 
And silken snoods he gave me twa; 

And I will wear them for his sake, * 
The bonie lad that’s far awa. . 


The weary winter soon will pass, 

And spring will cleed the birken-shaw ; 
And my sweet babie will be born, 

And he’ll come hame that’s far awa. 





DOWN THE BURN DAVIE. 


As down the burn they took their way, 
And thro’ the flowery dale; ‘ 
His cheek to hers he aft did lay, 
And love was ay the tale. 
With “ Mary, when shall we returr, 
Sic pleasures to renew ?” 
Quoth Mary, “ Love, I like the burn, 
And ay shall follow you.” 





A CANADIAN BOAT SONG.—By T. Moore. 


Faintly as tolls the evening chime, 
Our voices keep tune, and our oars keep time, 
Soon as the woods on shore look dim, 

We'll sing at St. Ann’s our parting hymn! 
Row, brothers, row, the stream runs fast, 

The rapids are near and the daylight’s past. 


Why should we yet our sail unfurl ? 
There is not a breath the blue wave to cur!; 
But when the wind blows off the shore, 
Oh, sweetly, we’ll rest our weary oar. 
Blow, breezes, blow, &c. 


158 THE WESTERN SONGSTER, 


Utawas tide! this trembling moon , 
Shall see us float over thy surges soon. 
Saint of this green Isle! hear our prayer, 
Grant us cool heavens and favouring air! 
Blow, breezes, blow, &c. 





FRIEND OF MY SOUL. 


. © Friend of my soul! this goblet sip, 
*T will chase each pensive tear ; 
*Tis not so sweet as woman’s lip, 
But oh! ’tis more sincere. 
Like her delusive beam, 
°*T will steal away thy mind ; 
But like affection’s dream, 
It leaves no sting behind! 


Come, twine the wreath, thy brows to shade, 
These flowers were cull’d at noon; 
Like woman’s love the rose will fade, 
But, ah! not half so soon, 
For, tho’ the flow’r’s decay"d, 
Its fragrance is not o’er; 
But once when love’s betray’d, 
The heart can bloom no more! 





FAREWELL. 


Farewell—farewell to thee, Anasy’s daughter! 
(Thus warbled a Perr beneath the dark sea;) 
No pearl ever lay, under Oman’s green water, 
More pure in its shell than thy spirit.in thee. 
Oh! fair as the sea-fl er close to thee growing, 
How light was thy heart till love’s witchery came, 
Like the wind of the south o’er a summer lute blowing, 
And hush/’d all its music and wither’d its frame ! 


But long upon Arasy’s green sunny highlands, 
Shall maids and their lovers remember the doom 

Of her who lies sleeping among the Pearl Islands, 
With nought but the sea-star to light up her tomb. 





pk er 
pairs 


THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 159 
. And still, when the merry date season is burning, 
And calls to the palm-groves the young and the old, 
The happiest there, from their pastime returning, 
At sunset, will weep when thy story is told. 


The young village maid, when with flowers she dresses 
Her dark-flowing hair, for some festival day, 

Will think of thy fate, till, neglecting her tresses, 
She mournfully turns from the mirror away. 


Nor shall Iran, belov’d of her hero! forget thee,— 
Tho’ tyrants watch over her tears as they start ; 
Close, close by the side of that hero she’ll set thee, 
Embalm’d in the innermost shrine of her heart. 


Farewell—be it ours to embellish thy pillow 
With every thing beauteous that grows in the deep; 
Each flower of the rock, and each gem of the billow, 
Shall sweeten thy bed, and illumine thy sleep. 


Around thee shall glisten the loveliest amber 
That ever the sorrowing sea-bird has wept; 

With many a shell, in whose hollow-wreath’d chamber, 
We, Peris of ocean, by moonlight have slept. 


We'll dive where the gardens of coral lie darkling, 
And plant all the rosiest stems at thy head; 
We’ll seek where the sands of the Caspian are spark- 
ling, ' 
And gather their gold to strew over thy bed. 
Farewellfarewell—until Pity’s sweet fountain 
Is lost in the hearts of the fair and the brave, 
They’ll weep for the chieftain who died on that moun- 
tain ; 
They'll weep for the maiden 






ho sleeps in this wave. 





GO WHERE GLORY WAITS THEE. 
2 Arn—* The Maid of the Valley.” 


Go where glory waits thee, 
But while fame elates thee, 
Oh! still remember me. 


160 


THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 


When the praise thou meetest, 
To thine ear is sweetest, 

Oh! then remember me. 
Other arms may press thee, 
Dearer friends caress thee, 
All the joys that bless thee, 

Sweeter far may be; 

But when friends are nearest, 
And when joys are dearest, 
Oh! then remember me. 


When, at eve, thou rovest, 
By the star thou lovest, 

Oh! then remember me. 
Think, when home returning, 
Bright we’ve seen it burning, 

Oh! thus remember me. 
Oft as summer closes, 

When thine eye reposes, 
On its lingering roses, 

Once so lov’d by thee, 
Think of her who wove them, 
Her who made thee love them; 

Oh! then remember me. 


When, around thee dying, 
Autumn leaves are lying, . 
Oh! then remember me; 
And, at night, when gazing - 
On the gay hearth blazing, 
Oh! still remember me. 
Then; should music, stealing 
All the soul of feeling, 
To thy heart appealing, 
Draw one tear from thee : 
Then. let memory bring: thee 


_Strains I us’d to'sing thee— 


Oh! then remember me. 


4 


THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 162 


HERE’S THE BOWER. 


Here’s the bower she lov’d so much, 
And the tree she planted ; 

Here’s the harp she used to touch,— 
Oh! how that touch enchanted ! 

Roses now unheeded sigh, 
Where’s the hand to wreathe them 2 

Songs around neglected lie, 
Where’s the lip to breathe them ? 

Here’s the bower she loved so much, 
And the tree she planted; 

Here’s the harp she used to touch,— 
Oh! how that touch enchanted! 


Spring may bloom, but she we loy’d 
Ne’er shall feel its sweetness ! 

Time, that once so fleetly mov’d, 
Now hath lost its fleetness. 

Years were days, when here she stray’d, 
Days were moments near her ; 

Heav’n ne’er form’d a brighter maid, 
Nor pity wept a dearer! 

Here’s the bower she loved so much, 
And the tree she planted ; ee 

Here’s the harp she used te touch— - %? 
Oh! how that touch enchanted! 


yv 





HAVE YOU NOT SEEN THE TIMID TEAR, 


Have you not seen the timid tear 
Steal trembling from mine eye? 

Have you not mark’d the flush of fear, 

_ Or caught the murmur’d sigh? 

And can you think my love is chill, 
Nor fix’d on you alone? 

And can you rend, by doubting still, 
A heart so much your own? 


~*~ 


»." =. 


uP 


162 


THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 


To you my soul®s affections move 
Devoutly, warmly true; 
My life has been a task of love, 
One long, long thought of you. 
if all your tender faith is o’er, 
If still my truth you’ll try, 
Alas! I know but one proof more, 
I’ll bless your name, and die! 





TO MARY IN HEAVEN. 


Thou lingering star, with less’ning ray, 
That lov’st to greet the early morn, 
Again thou usher’st in the day 
My Mary from my soul was torn. 


O Mary! dear departed shade ! 
Where is thy place of blissful rest ? 
See’st thou thy lover lowly laid? 
Hear’st thou the groans that rend his breast ? 


That sacred hour can I forget, 
Can | forget the hallow’d grove, 
Where by the winding Ayr we met, 
To live one day of parting love ! 


Eternity will not efface, 
. Those records dear of transports past ; 
Thy image at our last embrace ! 
Ah! little thought we ’twas our last! 
Ayr gurgling kiss’d his pebbled shore, 
-O’erhung with wild woods, thick’ning gree; 
The fragrant birch, and hawthorn hoar, 
Twin’d amorous round the raptur’d scene. 


The flowers sprang wanton to. be prest, 
The birds sang love on ev’ry spray, 

*Till too, too saon the glowing west, 
Proclaim’d the cet of winged-day. ~ 


Still o’er these scenes my mem’ry wakes, 
And fondly broods with miser care ; 
Time but the impression deeper makes, 
As streams their channels deeper wear. 
a 


-* 
aes 


THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 163 — 


My Mary, dear departed shade ! 
Where is thy blissful place of rest? 
See’st thou thy lover lowly laid? 
Hear’st thou the groans that rend his breast ? 





SHE SAYS SHE LO’ES ME BEST OF A’, 


Sae flaxen were her ringlets, 

Her eyebrows of a darker hue, 
Bewitchingly o’erarching 

Twa laughing een o’ bonie blue. 
Her smiling sae wyling, 

Wad make a wretch forget his wo; 
What pleasure, what treasure, 

Unto these rosy lips to grow: 
Such was my Chloris’ bonie face, 

When first her bonie face I saw ; 
And ay my Chloris’ dearest charm, 

She says she lo’es me best of a’. 


Like harmony her motion ; 

Her pretty ankle is a spy, 
Betraying fair proportion, 

Wad make a saint forget the sky. 
Sae warming, sae charming, 

Her faultless form and gracefu’ air ; 
Ik feature—auld nature 

Declar’d that she could do nae mair: 
Hers are the willing chains o’ love, 

By conquering beauty’s sovereign law ; 
And ay my Chloris’ dearest charm, 

She says she lo’es me best of a’. 


Let others love the city, 
And gaudy show at sunny noon; 
Gie me the lonely valley, 
The dewy eve, and rising moon 
_-Fair beaming, and streaming, 
Her silver light the boughs amang ; 
While falling, recalling, 
The amorous thrush concludes his sang : 
N 


4 


164 THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 


There, dearest Chloris, wilt thou rove 
By wimpling burn and leafy shaw, 

And hear my vows o’ truth and love, 
And say thou lo’est me best of a’. 





MY NANIE’S AWA. 
Tune— There'll never be peace,” &c 
Now in her green mantle blithe nature arrays, 
And listens the lambkins that bleat o’er the braes, 
While birds warble welcome in ilka green shaw ; 
But to me its delightless—my Nanie’s awa. 


The snaw-drap and primrose our woodlands adorn, 
And violets bathe in the weet o’ the morn ; 

They pain my sad bosom, sae sweetly they blaw, 
They mind me o’ Nanie—and Nanie’s awa. 


Thou lav’rock that springs frae the dews of the lawn, 
The shepherd to warn o’ the grey-breaking dawn ; 
And thou, mellow mavis, that hails the night fa’, 
Give over for pity—for Nanie’s awa. 


Come autumn sae pensive, in yeliow and grey, 
And soothe me wi’ tidings o’ nature’s decay ; 
The dark, dreary winter, and wild-driving snaw, 
Alane can delight me—now Nanie’s awa. 





I SAW THY FORM IN YOUTHFUL PRIME: 
Arr—* Domhanall.”’ 


I saw thy forrn in youthful prime, 
Nor thought that pale decay 

Would steal before the steps of time, 
And waste its bloom away, Mary! | 

Yet still thy features wore that light, 
Which fleet not with the breath ; 

And life ne’er look’d more purely bright 
Than in thy smile of death, Mary ! 


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» 


THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 165 


As streams that run o’er golden mines, 
With modest murmur glide, 

Nor seem to know the wealth that shines 
Within their gentle tide, Mary! 

So, veil’d beneath a simple guise, 
Thy radiant genius shone, 

And that which charm’d all other eyes, 
Seem’d worthless in thy own, Mary! 


If souls could always dwell above, 
Thou ne’er had’st left thy sphere ; 

Or, could we keep the souls we love, 
We ne’er had lost thee here, Mary! 

Though many a gifted mind we meet, 
Though fairest forms we see, 

To live with them is far less sweet, 
Than to remember thee, Mary! 





I SAW FROM THE BEACH. 
Arr—“ Miss Molly.” 


I saw from the beach, when the morning was shining, 
A bark o’er the waters move gloriously on ; 
1 came when the sun o’er that beach was declining— 
The bark was still there, but the waters were gone | 
Ah! such is the fate of our life’s early promise, 
So passing the springtide of joy we have known: 
Each wave that we danc’d on at morning ebbs from us, 
And leaves us, at eve, on the bleak shore alone ! 


Ne’er tell me of glories serenely adorning 
The close of our day, the calm eve of our night ; 
Give me back, give me back, the wild freshness of 
morning, 
Her elouds and her tears are worth evening’s best, 
light. 
Oh, eal would not welcome that moment's returning, 
When passion first wak’d a new life through his frame ; 
And his soul, like the wood, that grows precious in 
burning, 
Gave out all its sweets to love’s exquisite flame ! 













STERN SONGSTER. 


‘LOVE, ‘MY MARY. 


2d Voiee-—Love, my Mary. dwells with thee, 
On thy cheek hi; bed I see; 
1st Voice—No, that cheek is pale with care 
Love can. find no roses there ; 
No, no, no, no, no, no, 
No roses there, no, no. 
Duett——’Tis mor on the cheek of rose, 
Love can find the best repose ; 
In my heart his home thou'lt see, 
There he lives, and lives for thee. 









2d Voice—Love, my Mary, ne’er can roam, 
While he makes that eye his home. 
Ist Votce—No, the eye with sorrow dim, 
Ne’er can be a home for him ; 4 
Ne’er can be, no, no, no; 
A home for him, no, no. 
_ Ducti——Yet tis not in beaming eyes 
Love for ever warmest lies; 
In my heart his home thou'lt see ; 
‘y There he lives, and lives for thee. 


ih a 





LET ERIN REMEMBER. 
Arm—‘ The Red Fox.” 


Let Erin remember the days of old, 
Ere faithless sons betray’d her ; 
When Malachi wore the collar of gold, 
Which he won from her proud invader ; 
When her king with standard of green unfurl’d, 
Led the Red Branch knights to danger, 
Ere the emerald gem of the western world 
Was set in the crown ofa stranger. 


On Lough-Neagh’s bank, as the fisherman strays, 
When the clear cold eve’ s declining, 

He sees the round towers of other days 
In the wave beneath him shining! 


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4 THE WESTERN SONGS 
Pstity 
Thus shall memory often, in dreams sub oy 
Catch a glimpse of the days that are over; ~ we 
“Thus sighing, look through the wave of time, : 
j For the long faded glories they cover. 


THE CASTILIAN MAID.—By T. Moore. 


Qh! remember the time in La Mancha’s shades, 
When our moments s0 blissfully flew ; 
_ When you call’d me the flower of Castilian maids, 
’ And I blush’d to be call’d so by you. 
When I taught you to warble the gay Seguadille, 
And to dance to the light Castanet ; be 
Qh! never, dear youth, let you roam where you will, 
The delight of those moments forget. 


They tell me, you lovers from Erin’s green Isle, 
Ev’ry hour a new passion can feel; 

And that soon in the light of some lovelier smile, 
You'll forget the poor maid of Castile. 

But they know not how brave in the battlé you are, 
Or they never could think you would rove; 


For ’tis always the spirit most gallant in war, ser 


That is fondest and truest in love! ie 





OH! BREATHE NOT HIS NAME. 
Arr—** The Brown Mard.” 


Oh! breathe not his name, let it sleep in the shade, 
Where cold and unhonour’d his relics are laid; 

Sad, silent, and dark, be the tears that we shed, 

As the night-dew that falls on the grass o’er his head. 


But the night-dew that falls, tho’ in silence it weeps, 
Shall brighten with verdure the grave where he sleeps, 
And the tear that we shed, though in secret it rolis, 
Shall long keep his memory green in our souls. 


N 2 


a ith: 


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“ i Ca 
HE WESITERN SONGSTER. 






4 


) ROB MORRIS. 
There’s auld Rob Morris that wons in yon glen, 


a 


 He’s the king o’ gude fellows and wale of auld men ; 


He has gowd in his coffers, he has owsen and kine, 
And ae bonnie lassie, his darling and mine. 


She’s fresh as the morning, the fairest in May ; 
She’s sweet as the ev’ning amang the new hay ; 
As blithe and as artless as the lambs on the lea, . 
And dear to my heart as ibe light to my e’e. 


But oh! she’s an heiress, auld Robin’s a laird, 

And my daddie has nought but a cot-house and yard; 
A wooer like me mauna hope to come speed, 

The wounds I must hide that will soon be my dead. 





The day comes to me, but delight brings me nane: 
The night comes to me, but my rest it is ‘gane ; 

T wander my lane like a night troubled ghaist, 
And I sigh as my heart it wad burst in my breast. 


O had she but been of a lower degree, 
I then might hae hop’d she wad smiled upon me! 


O, how past, describing had then been my bliss, . 


As now my distraction no words can express! 





© 
FAIR ELIZA. 
Turn again, thou fair Eliza, 
Ae kind blink before we part, 
Rew on thy despairing lover! 
Canst thou break his faithfu’ heart! 
Turn again, thou fair Eliza; 
If to iove thy heart denies, 
For pity hide the cruel sentence 
Under friendship’s kind disguise ! 


Thee, dear maid, have I offended? 
The offence is loving thee: | 

Canst thou wreck his peace for ever, 
Wha for thine wad gladly die! 


ft 


=e 


: he 
THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 


While the life beats in 1 - bosom, 
Thou shalt mix in ilka throe: ~~ 
Turn again, thou lovely maiden, 
Ae sweet smile on me bestow. 


Not the bee upon the blossom, t 
In the pride o’ sinny noon; | 
Not the little sporting fairy, 
All beneath the simmer moon ; 
Not the poet in the moment 
Fancy lightens on his e’e, . 
Kens the pleasure, feels the rapture, 
That thy presence gies to me. 





A MAN’S A MAN FOR A’ THAT. 


Is there for honest poverty, 
Wha hangs his head and a’ that ? 
The coward slave we pass him by, 
And dare be poor for a’ that. 
For a’ that, and‘a’ that, 
Our toils obscure, an’ a’ that, 
The rank is but the guinea stamp, 
The man’s the gowd, for a’ that. 


What though on hamely fare we dine, 
Wear hodden grey, and a’ that? 

Gie fools their silk, and knaves their wine, 
A man’s a man for a’ that. 

For a’ that, and a’ that, 
Their tinsel show, an’ a’ that; 

An honest man, though ne’er sae poor, 
Is chief of men for a’ that. 


Ye see yon birkie, ca’d a lord, 
Wha struts and stares, and a’ that, 
Tho’ hundreds worship at his word, 
He’s but a cuif for a’ that. 
For a’ that, and a’ that, 
His riband, star, and a’ that ; 
A man of independent mind, 
Can look, and laugh at a’ that. 


169 


170 THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 


The king can mak’ a belted knight, 
A marquis, duke, and a’ that, 

An honest man’s aboon his might, 
Gude faith he manna fa’ that! 

For a’ that, and a’ that, 
His dignities and a’ that! 

The pith o’ sense, and pride o’ worth, 
Are grander far than a’ that. 


Then let us pray, that come it may, 
As come it shall for a’ that; 

That sense and worth o’er a’ the earth. 
Shall bear the-gree, and a’ that; 

For a’ that, and a’ that, 
It’s coming yet, for a’ that ; 

Whan man to man, the warld o’er, 
Shall brothers be, and a’ that. _ 


JESSIE. 
Tune—“ Bonnie Dundee.” 


+ 
‘True hearted was he, the sad swain o’ the Yarrow, 
And fair are the maids on the banks of the Ayr, 
But by the sweet side o’ the Nith’s winding river, 
Are lovers as faithful, and maidens as fair : 
To equal young Jessie seek Scotland all over ; 
To equal young Jessie you seek it in vain— 
Grace, beauty, and elegance fetter her lover, 
And maidenly modesty fixes the chain. 


_ O fresh is the rose in the gay, dewy morning, 

And sweet is the lily at evening close ; 

But in the fair presence o’ lovely young Jessie, 
Unseen is the lily, unheeded the rose. 

Love sits in her smile, a wizard ensnaring ; 
Enthron’d in her een he delivers his law ; 

And still to her charms she alone is a stranger, 
Her modest demeaneur's the jewel of a’. 


% 


THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 17 


BEWARE O° BONIE ANN. 


Ye gallants bright, I rede ye right, _ 
Beware o’ bonie Ann;_. 

Her comely face sae fu’ o’ grace, 
Your heart she will trepan. 

Her een sae bright, like stars by night, 
Her skin is like the swan ; 

Sae jimply lac’d her genty waist, 
That sweetly she might span. 

Youth, grace, and love, attendant move, 
And pleasure leads the van ; 

In a’ their charms, and conquering arms, 
They wait on bonie Ann. 

The captive bands may chain the hands, 
But love enslaves the man ; 

Ye gallants braw, I rede youa,’ 
Beware o’ bonie Ann. 





REMEMBER THEE! 
Arr—“ Castle Tirowen,”’ 


Remember thee! yes while there’s life in this heart, 
{t shall never forget thee, all lorn as thou art ; 

More dear in thy sorrow, thy gloom and thy showers, 
Than the rest of the world in their sunniest hours. 


-Wert thou all that I wish thee, great, glorious, and free, 
First flower of the earth, and first gem of the sea, 

I might hail thee with prouder, with happier brow, 

But, oh! could I love thee more deeply than now ? 


No, thy chains as they torture thy blood as it runs, 
But make thee more painfully dear to thy sons— 
Whose hearts, like the young of the desart-bird’s nest, 
Drink love in each life-drop that flows from thy breast ! 





- 


SUBLIME WAS THE WARNING. 


Sublime was the warning which liberty spoke, 
And grand was the moment when Spaniards awoke, 


172 THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 
Poe 

Into life and revenge from the conqueror’s chain. 
Oh! liberty ! let not this spirit have rest, : 
Till it move, like a breeze, o’er the waves of the*west, 
Give the light of your looks to each sorrowing spot, 
Nor, oh! be the shamrock of Erin forgot, 

While you add to your garland the olive of Spain ! 


If the fame of our fathers, bequeath’d with their rights, 
Give to country its charm, and to home its delights, 
If deceit be a wound, and suspicion a stain ; 
Then, ye men of Iberia! our cause is the same— 
And oh! may his tomb want a tear and a name, 
Who would ask for a nobler, a holier death, 
Than to turn his last sigh into victory’s breath 
For the shamrock of Erin and olive of Spain! 


Ye Blakes and O’Donnels, whose fathers resign’d 

The green hills of their youth, among strangers to find 
That repose which at home they had sigh’d for in 

vain, 

Breathe a hope that the magical flame which you light, 

May be felt yet in Erin, as calm and as bright ; 

And forgive even Albion, while blushing she draws, 

Like a truant, her sword, in the long slighted cause 
Of the shamrock of Erin and olive of Spain ! 


God prosper the cause !—Oh ! it cannot but thrive 
While the pulse of one patriot heart is alive, 

Its devotion to feel and its rights to maintain ; 
Then how sainted by sorrow its martyrs will die ! 
The finger of glory shall point where they lie! 
While far from the footstep of coward or slave, 

The young spirit of freedom shall shelter their grave 

Beneath shamrocks of Erin and olives of Spain! 








SHE IS FAR FROM THE LAND. 
Air— Open the Door.” 
She is far from the land, where her young hero sleeps. 
And lovers are round her sighing, 
But coldly she turns from their gaze, and weeps, 
For her heart in his grave is lying! — 


THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 


She sings the wild cond ee dear native plains, 
Every note which he lov’d awaking— — 

Ah! little they think, who delight in her strains, 
How the heart of the minstrel is breaking! 


He had liv’d for his love, for his country he died! 
They were all that to life had entwin’d him,— 

Nor soon shall the tears of his country be dried, 
Nor long will his love stay behind him ! 





Oh! make her a grave, where the sunbeams rest, 
When. they promise a glorious morrow ; 

They’ll shine o’er her sleep, like a smile from the west, 
From her own lov’d island of sorrow! — 





THE WREATH YOU WOVE. 


The wreath you wove, the wreath you wove 
Is fair, but oh! how fair, 

If pity’s hand had stol’n from love 
One leaf to mingle there. 


If ev’ry rose with gold were tied, 
Did gems for dew-drops fall, 
One faded leaf, where love had sigh’d, 
Were sweetly worth them all, / 


The wreath you wove, the wreath you wove 
Our emblem well may be, 

Its bloom is yours, but hopeless love 
Must keep its tears for me. 





THE HARP. 
Air—* Gramachree.” 


The harp that once through Tara’s halls 
The soul of music shed, 

Now hangs as mute on Tara’s walls, 
As if that soul were fled. 


174 


THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 


So sleeps the pride of former days, 
So glory’s thrill is o’er ; 

And hearts that once beat high for praise ; 
Now feel that pulse no more. 


No more the chiefs and ladies bright, 
The harp of Tara swells ; 

The chord, alone, that breaks at night, 
Its tale of ruin tells. 

Thus freedom now so seldom wakes, 
The only throb she gives, 

{s when some heart indignant breaks, 
To show that still she lives. 


oe 


‘TIS THE LAST ROSE OF SUMMER. 


‘Tis the last rose of summer, 
Left blooming alone ; 
All her lovely companions 
Are faded and gone ; 
No flower of her kindred, 
No rose-bud is nigh, 
To reflect back her blushes 
Or give sigh for sigh! 
Pll not leave thee, thou lone one ! 
To pine on the stem ; 
Since the lovely are sleeping, 
Go, sleep thou with them ; 
Thus kindly I scatter 
Thy leaves o’er thy bed, 
Where thy mates of the garden, 
Lie scentless and dead. 


So soon may I follow, 
When friendships decay, 
And from love’s shining circle, 
The gems drop away ! 
When true hearts lie wither’d, 
And fond ones are flown, 
Oh! who would inhabit 
This bleak world alone? 


THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 175 


. THE STEERSMAN’S SONG. 


When freshly blows the northern gale, 
. And under courses snug we fly ; 
When brighter breezes swell the sail, 
And royals proudly sweep the sky ; 
*Longside the wheel, unwearied still 
I stand, and as my watchful eye’ 
Doth mark the needle’s faithful thrill, 
I think of her I love, and cry, - 
Port, my boy! port. 


When calms delay, or breezes blow 
Right from the point we wish to steer ; 
When by the wind close-haul’d we go, 
_ And strive in vain the port to near ! 
{think ’tis thus the fates defer . 
My bliss with one that’s far away, 
And while remembrance springs to her, 
1 watch the sails; and sighing, say, 
Thus, my boy! thus. 


But see the wind draws kindly aft, 
All hands are up, the yards to square ; 
And now the floating stu’n-sails waft 
- Our stately ship through waves and air. 
Oh! thenI think that yetforme — 
Some breeze of fortune thus may spring ; 
Some breeze to waft me, love, to thee ! 
_ And in that hope I smiling sing, 
Steady, boy! so. 





WHEN HE WHO ADORES THEE. 
Arn— The Fox's Sleep.” 


When he who adores thee, has left but the name 
Ofhis fault*and his sorrow behind, 

O say, wilt thou weep, when they darken the fame 
OF: alife that for thee was resign’d? . 


o 


176 THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 


Yes, weep—and however my foes may condemn, 
Thy tears shall efface their decree; 

For heav’n can witness, though guilty to them, 
I have been but too faithful to thee. rm 

With thee were the dreams of my earliest love ; 
Every thought of my reason was thine :— 

In my last humble prayer to the spirit above, 

Thy name shall be mingled with mine. 
Oh! blest are the lovers and friends who shall live 
The days of thy glory to see ; : 
But the next dearest blessing that heaven can give, 

ts the pride of thus dying for thee. 


GAILY SOUNDS THE CASTANET.. 
Maltese Air. 


Gaily sounds the Castanet, 
Beating time to bounding feet, 
When, after daylight’s golden set, 
Maids and youths by moonlight meet. 


Oh! then, how sweet to move 
Thro’ all that maze of mirth, 
Lighted by those eyes we love,. 

» eyond all eyes on earth. 


‘Then the joyous banquet spread 
On the cool and fragrant ground, . 
With night’s bright eye-beams over head, 
And still brighter sparkling round. 


®©h! then, how sweet to say 
Into the lov’d one’s ear, 

Thoughts reserv’d through many a day, 
To be thus whisper’d there. 


When the dance and feast are done ~ 
Arm and arm as home we stray, | 
How sweet to see the dawning sun 
O’er her cheek’s warm blushes play ! 
‘Then, then the farewell kiss, — 
And words whose parting tone 
Lingers still in dreams of bliss 
That haunt young hearts alone. 





THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 177 


f VESPER HYMN IS STEALING. 
- * «Russian Arr. 
Hark, the vesper hymn is stealing 
O’er the waters, soft and clear— 
Nearer yet, and nearer pealing, 
Now it bursts upon the ear. 
Jubelate, __——-——-Amen. 
Farther now, now farther stealing, 
Soft it fades upon the ear ; 
Farther now, &c. 
Soft it fades, &c. 


Now like moonlight waves retreating, _ 

To the shore it dies along ; 
. Now like angry surges meeting, 

Breaks the mingled tide of song. 

Hark again, like waves retreating, 
To the shore it dies along ; 

Hark again, &c. 
To the shore, &c. 





HARK, TH 





YOUNG LOVE LIV’D ONCE IN AN HUMBLE 
SHED. 


tues love liv’d once in an humble shed, n 
here roses breathing, ; 
And woodbines wreathing 
Around the lattice their tendrils spread, ~ 
As wild and sweet as the life he led: 
His garden flourish’d, 
For young hope nourish’d 
The infant buds with beams and showers ; 
But lips; though blooming, must still be fea, 
And not even love can live on flowers. 


Alas! that poverty’s evil eye 
*- Should e’er come hither, . 
Such sweets to wither ! 
The flowers laid down their heads to die, 
And hope fell sick, as the witch drew nigh. . ” 


178 THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 


She came one morning, 

Ere love had warning, ‘ 
And rais’d the latch, where the young god lay ; 
“ Oh ho!” said love—“ is it you? good bye ;” 
So he opened the window, and flew away ! 





OH! NO—NOT FEN WHEN FIRST WE LOV’D. 
Cashmerian Air. 


Oh! no—not e’en when first we lov’d, 
Wert thou as dear as now thou art ; 
Thy beauty then my senses mov’d, 
But now thy virtues bind my heart. 


_ What was but passion’s sigh before, 
Has since been turn’d to reason’s vow ; 
And tho’ I then might love thee more, 
Trust me I love thee better—better now! 


Although my heart in earlier youth, 
Might kindle with more wild desire, ~ 
Believe me it has gain’d in truth, 
Much more than it has lost in fire. 


The flame now warms my inmost core, 
That then but sparkled o’er my brow; 

And tho’ I seem to love thee more, 

Yet, Oh! I love thee better—better now. - 





THEN FARE THEE WELL. 
English Air. 
Then, fare thee well, my own dear love, 
This world has now for us 
No greater grief, no pain above 


The pain of parting thus, dear love ! 
The pain of parting thus ! 


Had we but known, since first we met, 
Some few short hours or bliss, 


THE WESTERN SONGSTER. his 


We might in numb’ring them, forget 
The deep, deep: pain of this, dear love ! ae 
The deep, deep pain of this! 


But no alas, we’ve never seen 

One glimpse of pleasure’s ray, 

But still there came some cloud between, 
And chas’d it all away, dear love! 

And chas’d it all away! 


Yet e’en could those sad moments last 
Far dearer to my heart | 
Were hours of grief, together past, 
Than years of mirth apart, dear love! 
Than years of mirth apart. 


Farewell—our hope was born in fears, 
And nurs’d ‘mid vain regrets ! 

Like winter suns, it rose in tears, 
Like them in tears it sets, dear love ! 
Like them in tears it sets. 





-GALLA WATER. 


There’s braw, braw lads, on Yarrow braes, 
That wander thro’ the blooming heather ; 
But Yarrow braes, nor Ettric shaws, 
Can match the lads 0’ Galla water. 


But there is ane, a secret ane, 
Aboon them a’ I loe him better ; 

And Ill be his, and he'll be mine, 
The bonie lad o’ Galla water. 


Altho’ his daddie was nae laird, 

And tho’ I hae na meikle tocher ; 
Yet rich in kindest, truest love, 

We'll tent our flocks, by Galla water. 


_ Jt ne’er was wealth, it ne’er was wealth, « 


That soft contentment, peace, or pleasure ; 
The bands and bliss o’ mutual love, 
O that’s the chiefest warld’s treasure: 


02 


7 >= 


180 THE WESTERN SONGSTER. | 


WILLIE BREW'D A PECK 0’ MAUT. 


O Willie brew’d:a peck o’ maut, 
And Rob and Allan cam to see; 
Three blither hearts, that lee-lang night, 
Ye wad na find in Christendie. 
We are na fou, we’re na that fou, 
But just a drappie in our e’e: 
The cock may craw, the day may daw, . 
And ay we'll taste the barley bree. 


Here are we met, three merry boys, 
_ Three merry boys I trow are we; 
And mony a night we’ve merry been, 
And mony mae we hope to be! 
We are na fou, &ec. 


it isthe moon, {ken her horn, —_. 
That’s blinkin’ in the lift sae hie; — 
She shines sae bright to wyle us hame, 
But by my sooth she’ll wait a wee! 
‘We are na fou, &c. 


Wha first shall rise to gang awa, 
A cuckold, coward loun is he! 
Wha first beside his chair shall fa’; 
He is the king amang us three ‘ 

We are na fou, &c. 





MY BONNIE MARY. 


Go fetch to me a pint o’ wine, 
And fill it in a silver tassie ; 
That I may drink, before I go, 
A service to my bonnie lassie : 
The boat rocks at the pier o’ Leith; 
Fu’ loud the wind blaws fra the ferry, 
The ship rides by the Berwick-law, 
«And I maun lea’e my bonnie Mary. 


The trumpets sound, the banners fly, 
The glittering spears are ranked ready ; 


THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 181 


The shouts o’ war are heard afar,— *. 
__ The battle closes thick and bloody : 
But it’s not the roar o’ sea or shore, 
Wad make me langer wish to tarry ; 
Nor shouts o’ war that’s heard afar, 
It’s leaving thee, my bonnie Mary. 


1 LOVE MY JEAN—Burns. 


Tunz—“ Miss Gordon’s Strathspey.” 


Of a’ the airts the wind can blaw, 
_ I dearly like the west, 
For there the bonnie lassie lives, 
The lassie I lo’e best : 
There wild-woods grow, and rivers row, * 
And mony a hill between ; 
But day and night my fancy’s flight 
Is ever wi’ my Jean. 





{ see her in the dewy flowers, 
_ I see her sweet and fair ; 
I hear her in the tunefu’ birds, 
I hear her charm the air ; ; 
There’s not ‘a bonnie flower that springs, 
By fountain, shaw, or green, 
There’s not a bonnie bird that sings, | 
But minds me o’ my Jean. 


Upon the banks of flowing Clyde, 
The lasses busk them braw, 

But when their best they hae put on, 
My Jennie dings them a’ ; 

In hamely weeds she far exceeds, 
The fairest of the town; 

Baith sage and gay confess it sae, 
Tho’ dress’d in rustic gown. 


The gamesome lamb that sucks the dam, 
_ Mair harmless canna be, 
She has nae faut (if sick we ca’t) 

Except her love for me: 


182 


& 


i | ie 
The sparkling dew, of clearest hue, m 


" bs ii 


j : ae 
THE WESTERN SONGSTER. | 


ae 


Is like her shining e’en ; 
In shape and air wha can compare 
Wi’ my sweet lovely Jean ? 


O blaw ye westlin winds, blaw saft, 
Amang the leafy trees ; 


. W? gentle breath frae muir an’ dale, 


Bring hame the laden bees : 
And bring the lassie back to me, i J 
That’s ay sae neat an’ clean; — a 
Ae blink o’ her would banish care, 
Sae charming is my Jean. 


What sighs and vows amang the nowes, 
Hae pass’d between ustwa; 








tig 
' How fain to meet, how wae t ) pal el 
That day she gaedawa; res 
‘The powers aboon can only ken, _ 


To whom the heart is seen, - 
That nane can be sae dear to me, ie 
As my sweet lovely Jean. ey. 


I see her in the glassy stream 
- That winds along the vale, . 
I hear here> echo’s voice 
That dies along the gale: 
I'll love her while a vital spark a 
Shall shed its latest gleana, 
Gay nature’s charms would soon depart 
If ’twere na for my Jean. ae 





A MASON’S DAUGHTER 


A mason’s daughter, fair and young, 
The pride of all the virgin throng, 
‘Thus to her lover said— 
Though, Damon, I your flame approve, 
Your actions praise, your perp love, és 
Yet still Pillivea maid. 


ell 
+ ert 
#3 
up 


ee, 


_ ‘THE WESTERN SONGSTER.. 183 


None shall untie my virgin zone, 
But one to whom the secret’s known, 
Of,fam’d free masonry ; 
In which the great and good combine, 
To raise, with generous design, 
Man to felicity. 


The lodge excludes the fop. and fool, 
The plodding knave, and party tool, 

That liberty would sell ; Je 
The noble, faithful, and the brave, = 
No golden charms can'e’er deceive, 
s In slavery to dwell. 


This said, he bow’d, and went away; 

Reply was made, without delay, 
Return’d to her again; 

The fair one granted his request, 

Connubial joys their days have blest ; 
And may they e’er remain. 





THE CONTENTED FELLOW. 


Contented I am, and contented Ill be ; 
For what can this world more afford, 
Than a girl that will socially sit on my knee, 
_ And a cellar that’s plentiful stor’d, 
hs, My brave boys ? 


Ake 
“See, my vault door is open, descend every guest, 
Tap the cask, for the wine we will try ; 
"Tis as sweet as the lips of your love to the taste, 
And as bright as her cheeks to your eye, 
My brave boys. 
Sound that pipe, ’tis in tune, and the binns are well fill’; 
. View that heap of champaign in the rear! 
- Those bottles are Burgundy: see how they’re pil’d, 


Like artillery, tier upon tier, 
' My brave boys. a 





184. 





My cellar’s my camp, and my soldiers my flasks, 
All gloriously ranged in view; 

When I cast my eyes round, I consider my casks 
As kingdoms I’ve got to. ee 


M brave boys. 
y vies y 










Ina piece of slit ho op I my candle ha 
i dee eae h b jottle t har ( 
1 glas ss for the putt se 1 ac 


_ 
3 









HAIL! AMERICA, HA 


Hail! America, hail! unrivall’d in fame, 
Thy foes in confusion turn pale at thy name; 
On thy rock rooted virtue firmly seated subli 
Below thee break harmless the billows of tim 

The strip’d flag shall wave still, and glory ensue, 


And freedom ne ever a guardian i in you. 











CHORUS. 


Hwzza! huzza! huzza! for brave America, where fr 
secures, za 
For a high car of crest, blazon’d glory are yours. = 


Let Spain boast the treasures that grow in her mines, 
Let Gallia rejoice in her olives and vines; 

In ig t sparkling jewels let India prevail, 

With her odours, Arabia, perfume orety gale: 

‘Tis America alone that can boast of the soil, 

Where the fair fruits of virtue an ty smile. 

Huzza for brave America, wher edom secures, 

Fer the blessings of virtue and plenty are yours. 






183 





Our bosoms in rapture beat high at thy name, 

Thy health is our transpor t—our triumph, thy fame ; 

Like our A oride with our swords we'll support thy renown ; 
with their blood we’ll defend with our 














Smile, ye guardians freedom : your brave sons implore, 
& at America may aa en fe oh, ome she more 


a 


huzza, Oc... See A 


The muses to thiee a glad: : 
We flourish with freedom, with freedom decay ; F 
Our hearts faintly murmur, or silently stand, 
Should the sword of Oppression ’gain wave o’er our land. 
e soar high, ,can s * dart like the wind, 







With sweetness and shee shy saci arise, 

With rose blooming cheeks and love languishing eyes ; 
Haste ye graces, cries Venus, to America repair, 

Fit contsorts for heroes, the first of the fair ; 
For to who ould the blessings of free 
But to sons of those sires who dar’d freedom defend. 

Huzza for brave America, where freedom secures, 
or a Hancock, Franxiin, and WasHineTon, are 









"THE TAR FOR ALL WEATHERS. 


I sail’d from the Downs in the Nancy, 

My jib how,it smack’d through the breeze, 
She’s a vessel as tight to my fancy, 

As ever sail’d through the salt seas; 


Them adieu to the es cliffs of Britain, 





Our girls and ¢ ar native shore, ne 
For if some hard we should split on, 
We ne’er should see them any more. “ ¢. | 


pA 


pe ie 


i a 
ea 


LS6 THE WESTERN SONGSTER. — | 
n 
But sailors were born for all weathers, 
The wind then blow high or blow low, 
Our duty keeps us to our tethers, , 
And where the wind drives we must go. 


When we enter’d the gut of Gibraltar, 
I verily thought she’d have sunk ; u 
‘For the wind it began so to alter, n 
She yaw’d just as though she was drunk: ‘ 
The squall tore the mainsail to shivers, x 
Helm a-weather, the hoarse boatswain cries, 
Brace the foresail athwart—see she quivers, 
As through the rough tempest she flies. 
But sailors, &c. ah oe 


The storm came on thicker and faster, 
As black just as pitch was the sky, _ 
When truly a doleful disaster, 
_ Befelsthree poor sailorsand 1; 
Ben Buntline, Sam Shroud, and Dick Handsail, 
By a blast that came furious and hard, ; 
Just while we were furling the mainsail, 
Were every soul swept from the yard. 
But sailors, &ce. ; 


Poor Ben, Sam and Dick cried peceavi; 
As for I, at the risk of my neck, 
While they sunk down in peace to old Davy, 
Caught a rope and so landed on deck ; 
Well, what would you have? we were stranded, 
And out ofa fine jolly crew, | 
Of three hundred that sail’d, never landed 
But I, and (I think) twenty-two. 
But sailors, &c. 


After thus we at sea had miscarried, 
Another guess way sat the wind, 
For to England I came and got married, 
To a lass that was comely and kind; 
But whether for joy or vexation, » 
We know not for what we are born, 
Perhaps I may find a kind station, _ 
Perhaps I may touch at Cape Horn. 
But sailors, &c. 





7 oy "yb 


ra is 
"THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 187 


LASH’D TO THE HELM, 


In storms, when clouds obscure the sky, 
And thunders roll and lightnings fly, 
In midst of all these dire alarms, 
I think, my Sally, on thy charms. 
The troubled main, 
The wind and rain, 
My ardent passion prove ; 
Lash’d to the helm, ’ 
Should seas o’erwhelm, 
I’d think on thee, my love. 


When rocks appear on ev’ry side, 
And art is vain the ship to guide, 
In varied shapes when death appears, 
The thoughts of thee my bosom cheers: 
The troubled main, 
The wind and rain, 
My ardent passion prove ; 
Lash’d to the helm, 
Should seas o’erwhelm, 
I'd think on thee, my love. _ 


But should the gracious powers be kind, 
Dispel the gloom and still the wind, 
And waft me to thy arms once more, 
Safe to my long lost native shore: 
No more the main 
I'd tempt again, 
But tender joys improve ; 
I then with thee 
Should happy be, 
And think on nought but love. 





MA CHERE AMIE. 


Ma chere amie, my charming fair, 
Whose smiles can banish every care ; 
In kind compassion smile on me, 
Whose only love of life is thee, e 
Ma chere amie, &c. ’ 
P 


188 THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 


Under sweet friendship’s sacred name, 
My bosom caught the tender, flame ; 
May friendship in thy bosom be, 
Converted into love for me, 

Ma chere amie, &c. 


Together rear’d, together grown, 

O let us now unite in one! 

Let pity soften thy decree! 

I droop, dear maid—lI die for thee! 
Ma chere amie, &c. 


See 


THE TWIG OF SHELALY. 


Mulrooney's my name, I’m a comical boy, 

A tight little lad at shelaly ; 

St. Paddy wid whiskey he suckled me, joy; 
Among the sweet bogs of Kelaly! 

The world I began with the prospect so fair, 
My dad was worth nothing, and I was his heir; 
So all my estate was a heart free from care, 
And a tight little twig of Shelaly. 


“Turn captain,” cried dad, “ and if kilt in domarite, 
Success and long life to Shelaly! . 
Your fortune is made all the rest of your life, 

As sure as there’s bogs in Kelaly.” 

But thinks I, spite of what fame and glory bequeath; 
How conceited I’d look in a fine laurel wreath, 

Wid my head in my mouth to stand picking my teeth, 
Wid a tight little twig of shelaly. 


Yet firmly both Ireland and England I'll aid, 

The lands of oak stick and shelaly ; 

For now these two sisters are man and wife made, 

As sure as there’s bogs in Kelaly. 

Pll still for their friends have a heart warm and true, 
fs rive my hand, for what else can I do? 


To their foes gi 
Yes, I'll gi bs my hand—but, along wid it too, 







THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 189 ; 


SWEET LILIES OF THE VALLEY. — 


O’er barren hills and flow’ry dales, 
O’er seas and distant shores, 

With merry song and jocund tales, 
I’ve past some pleasing hours: 

Though wand'ring thus, I ne’er could find 
A girl like blithesome Sally, 

Who picks and culls, and cries aloud, 
Sweet lilies of the valley. 


From whistling o’er the harrow’d turf, 
From nestling of each tree, 

I chose a soldiey’s life to lead, 
So social, gay, and free: 

Yet, though the lasses love as well, 
And often try to raily, 

- None pleases me like her, who cries, 

Sweet lilies of the valley. 


I’m now return’d of late discharg’d, 
To uce my native toil ; 

From fighting in my country’s cause, 
To plough my country’s soil : 


I care not which, with either pleas’d, 
So I posses my Sally, 


That little merry nymph who cries, 
Sweet lihes of the valley. 





THE MINSTREL BOY. 
Airn— The Moreen.” 


The minstrel boy to the war is gone, 
In the ranks of death you'll find him : 

His father’s sword he has girded on, 
And his wild harp slung behind him. 


‘Band of Song !” said the warrior b 
“ Though all the world betrays t , 
One sword, at least, thy rights sha ; 


One faithful harp shall praise thee. — 







190 THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 


The minstrel fell! but the foemen’s chain 
Could not bring his proud soul under ; 

The harp he lov’d ne’er spoke again, 
For he tore its chords asunder ; 

And said, “* No chains shall sully thee, 
Thou soul of love and bravery ! 

Thy songs were made for the pure and free, 
They shall never sound in slavery.” 





CUSHLAMACREE, 
Airn—“ Pastheen Fuen.” 


Dear Erin! how sweetly thy green bosom rises, 
An emerald set in the ring of the sea ; 

Each blade of thy meadows my faithful heart prizes, 
The queen of the west, the world’s Cushlamacree. 


Thy gates open wide to the poor and the stranger ; 
There smiles hospitality hearty and free: 
Thy friendship is seen in the moment of danger, 
nd the wand’rer is weleom’d with Cushlamacree. 


In brotherly peace with their foes they a; 5 
And the roseate cheeks of thy daughters discover 
The soul-speaking blush, that says Cushlamacres. 


Then flourish for ever, my dear native Erin, 
While sadly I wander, an exile from thee ! 
And firm as thy mountains, no injury fearing, 

May heaven defend its own Cushlamacree. 


Thy sons they are brave, but the battle ae.” 





THE SAILOR BOY. 


The sea was calm, the sky serene, 
apagently blew the eastern gale, 
Ww 


n Anna, seated on a rock, — 
Watch’d the Lavinia’s less’ning sail. 


THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 191 


To heaven she thus her pray’r address’d ; 
*‘ Thou who canst save or canst destroy ! 

From each surrounding danger guard , 
My much lov’d little sailor boy. 


When tempests o’er the ocean howl, 
And even sailors shrink with dread, 
Be some protecting angel near, 
To hover o’er my William’s head : 
He was belov’d by all the plain ; 
His father’s pride, his mother’s joy ; 
Then safely to their arms restore 
Their much lov’d little sailor boy. 


May no rude foe his course impede, 
Conduct him safely o’er the waves ; 
OQ! may he never be compell’d, 
To fight for pow’r or mix with slaves ; 
May smiling peace his steps attend, 
Each rising hour be crown’d with joy, 
As blest as that when I again 
Shall meet my much loy’d sailor boy.’ 


oe 


d 





THE WOOD ROBIN. 


Stay, sweet enchanter of the grove, 
_ Leave not so soon thy native tree ; 
O, warble still those notes of love, 
While my fond heart responds to thee. 
O, warble still those notes of love, 
While my fond heart responds to thee. 


Rest thy soft bosom on the spray, 
Till chilly autumn frowns severe ; 
Then charm me with thy parting lay, 

And I will answer with a tear. 
Then charm me with thy parting lay, 
And I will answer with a tear. 


... But soon as spring enrich’d with flowers, "eae 
Comes dancing o’er the new-drest plain ; . 
Return, and cheer thy natal bow’rs, 
My Robin, with those notes again. 


P2 


192 


y a. ay 
*, : bik 


THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 


Return, and cheer thy natal bow’rs, 
My Robin, with those notes again. 
at 


¥ 


xt MORGIANA. 


Ah! what is the bosom’s commotion, 
In a sea of suspense while ’tis tost ! 
While the heart in our passion’s wild ocean, 
Feels even hope’s anchor is lost. 
Morgiana, thou art my dearest, 
For thee I have languish’d and griev’d ! 
And when hope to my bosom was nearest, 
How oft has that hope been deceiv’d. 
Morgiana, my hope was deceiv’d. 


The storm of despair has blown over, 


No more by its vapour depress’d ; 
i laugh at the clouds of a lover, 

With the sunshine of joy in my breast. 
Love made by a parent my duty, 

To the wish of my heart now arriv’d ; 
i bend to the power of beauty, 

And ev’ry fond hope is reviv’d. 

Morgiana, my hope is reviv’d. 





THE CALEDONIAN LADDIE. 


Blithe Sandy is a bonny boy, 
And always is a wooing ; 
He neither is too bold or coy, 
Although he is so looing ; 
Last night he press’d me to his breast, 
He vow’d he’d ask my daddy O! 
O-dear! to wed me he confess’d, 
The Caledonian Laddie O! 
My bonny, bonny, bonny Highland boy, 
My bonny, bonny, bonny Highland boy, 
My bonny, bonny, bonny Highland boy, 
My Caledonian Laddie OQ! 


i ip hy 
Sila. aR 
THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 193 


gat 
The lasses try both far and near, 
To win young Sandy over ; 
But all their arts I do not fear, 
He winna prove a rover : 
For sure he told me frank and free ; i 
Unknown to mam or daddy O! 
He’d marry none, ah none but me, 
My Caledonian Laddie O! 
My bonny, &c. 


The other day from Dundee fair, 
He brought me home a bonnet ; 
A cap and ribbon for my hair— 
But mark what soon came on it; 
As late from Kirk I somehow stood, ask’ 
' Jn spite of mam and daddy O! «tid F 
He married me, do what I could, Ae ae 
The Caledonian Laddie O! : 
My bonny, &c. 





THE LANDSEND.—By S. Woodworth. 


The gale was propitious, all canvas was spread, 
As swift through the water we glided, 
And the tear drop yet glisten’d which friendship had shed, 
Though the pang whence it sprang had subsided. 
Fast faded in distance each object we knew, 
As the shores which we lov'd were retiring, 
And the last grateful object which linger’d in view, 
Was the beacon on landsend aspiring. 


Ah! here, I exclaimed, is an emblem of life, 
For ’tis but a turbulent ocean, 
Where passion with reason is ever at strife, 
- - While our frail little barks are in motion. 
The haven of infancy, calm and serene, 
We leave in the distance retiring, 
While memory lingers to gaze on some scens, 
Like the beacon on landsend aspiring. 


O may I be careful to steer by that chart, 
Which wisdom in mercy has given, 


194 STERN SONGSTER. 
And true like th le, this tremulous heart, 
Be constantly pointing toHeaven. — - 
Thus safely with tempests and billows Tl cope, 

And find, when at last:they’re subsidmg, ~ . 
ndsend of life there’s a beacon of hope, 
harbour of happiness guiding. 

ee 
MY HEART AND LUTE.—By T. Moore. 
at give thee all—I can no more— 
_ Though poor the offering be ; 
My heart and lute are all the store 
That I can bring to thee. 
_ A lute, whose gentle song reveals, 
. The soul of love full well, 
And, better, far, a heart that feels, 
~ Much more than lute could tell. 
I give thee all, &c. 


Tho’ love and song may fail, alas! 
To keep life’s clouds away, 
At least ‘twill make them lighter pass, 
Or gild them if they stay. 
If ever care his discord flings 
O’er life’s enchanted strain, 
Let love but gently touch the strings, 
’T will all be sweet again ! 
I give thee all, &c. 


















WILLIAM THE BRAVE. 
By Mr. J. G. Drake, of Cincinnati. 


By the side of yon streamlet there grows a green willow, 
That bends to its surface, and kisses each wave ; 
Beneath whose dark shade with the sod for his pillow, 
In peace rests the spirit of William the brave. 
There, there o’er his grave does no stone tell his story, — 
No monument glitters in splendid array, 
Oh! no—on the heart is recorded his glory, 
On love’s holy altar ‘twill never decay. 


¢ 


THE WESTERN SONGS 









There, lonely at evening, when da eclining, — 
Sweet Mary,.in sorrow, oft hies to his grave ; 

And moistens the flowers, in beauty bil a , 
With tears to the mem’ry of William the brave. 
‘Tis the test of affection, far sweeter appearin 

Than all the gay glitter, shat custom eer , 
Ah Heaven! ’tis a tribute, and doubly endearing” 
When shed by fond love, o’er the tomb of the brave 


WITHIN A MILE. ate 


'T was within a mile of Edinboro’ town, 
In the rosy time of the year, 
Sweet flowers bloom’d, and the grass was 
And each shepherd wooed his dear : 
Bonny Jockey, blithe and gay, 
Kiss’d sweet Jenny making hay ; eal 
The lassie blush’d, and frowning cry’d, 
No, no, it will not do; 
I cannot, cannot, wonnot, wonnot, mannot buckle to. 








is 





Jockey was a wag that never would wed, 
Though long he had follow’d the lass : 
Contented she earn’d and ate her brown bread, 
And merrily turn’d up the grass: 
Bonny Jockey, blithe and free, 
Won her heart right merrily, 
Yet still she blush’d, and frowning cry’d, 
No, no, it will not do! 
I cannot, cannot, wonnot, wonnot, mannot buckle to. 


But when he vow’d he would make her his bride, 
Though his flocks and herds were no few, 
She gave him her hand, and a kiss beside, 
And vow’d she’d for ever be true. 
Bonny Jockey, blithe and free, 
- Won her heart right merrily ; 
At church she no more frowning cry’d, 
No, no, it will not do; 
Teannot, cannot, wonnot, wonnot, mannot, buckle to. 


ae 
196 THE ASareRn SONGSTER. 
; a ae 


TSA BEL. 


Wake, dearest, wake! and again united, 
We'll rove by yonder sea ; ; 
And where our first vows of love were plighted, 
Our last farewell shall be ; 
There oft I’ve gaz’d on thy smiles delighted ; 
And there I'll part from thee. 
There oft I’ve gaz’d on thy smiles delighted ; 
And there I'll part from thee. 
Isabel! Isabel! Isabel ! 
One look, though that look is in sorrow ; 
Fare thee well! fare thee well! fare thee well! 
Far hence I shall wander to-morrow : 
Ah me! Ahme! 


Dark is my doom, and from thee I sever, 

Whom I have lov’d alone ; 

"T were cruel to link thy fate forever, 
With sorrows like my own; 

Go smile on livelier friends, and never 
Lament me when I’m gone. 

Go sinile on livelier friends, and never 
Lament me when I’m gone. 

Isabel! Isabel, &c. 


And when at length in these lovely bowers, 
Some happier youth you see ; 

And you cull for him spring’s sweetest flowers, 
And he sings of love to thee: 

When you laugh with him at these vanish’d hours, 
Oh! tell him to love like me. 

When you laugh at him at these vanish’d hours, 
Oh! tell him to love like me. 

Isabel! Isabel, &c. 


THE BROWN JUG. 


Dear Tom, this brown jug which now foams with mild ale, : 
Of which I now drink to sweet Nan of the vale, 
Was once Toby Philpot, a thirsty old soul, 

As e’er crack’d a bottle or fathom’d a bowl ; 

For in boozing about, ’twas his praise to excel, 
And amongst jolly topers he bore off the bell. 


THE WESTERN SONGSTER. _ 197 


it chane’d as in dog-days, he sat at his ease, 

In a flower-woven arbour, as gay as you please, ~ 
With his pipe and his pot, putting sorrow away, 
And with honest old stingo sat soaking his clay, 
His breath-door of life of a sudden was shut, 

And he died full as big as a Dorchester butt. 


His body when long in the ground it had lain, 

And time into clay had dissolv’d it again, 

A potter found out in a covert so snug,— 

And with part of fat Toby he form’d this brown jug-- 
Now sacred. to friendship, to mirth, and mild ale, 

Pll drink to my lovely sweet Nan of the vale. 





O LET ME IN THIS AE NIGHT. 


O lassie, art thou sleeping yet, 
Or art thou wakin, I would wit? 
For love has bound me hand and fit, 
And I wad fain be in jo. 
O let me in this ae night, 
This ae, ae, ae night ; 
For pity sake, this ae night, 
O wad ye let me in, jo. 
Out o’er the moss, out o’er the muir, 
I came this dark and dreary hour, 
And here I stand without the daor. 
Amid the pouring storm, jo. 
O let me in, &c. 


Thou hear’st the winter wind and weet, 
Nae star blinks through the driving sleet, 
Tak pity on my weary feet, 
And shield me frae the rain, jp. 
O let me in, &c. 


The bitter blast that round me blaws, 
““Unheeded howls, unheeded fa’s ; 
The cauldness of thy heart’s the cauge 
O’ a’ my grief and pain, jo. 
O Iet mein, &e. 


Se 


198 THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 


BLOW HIGH, BLOW LOW.—By Dibdin. 


Blow high, blow low, let tempests tear 
The main-mast by the board, 

‘My heart with thoughts of thee, my dear, 
And love well stor’d, ; 

Shall brave all danger, scorn all fear, 
The roaring winds, the raging sea, 

In hopes on shore to be once more 
Safe moor’d with thee. 

Aloft, while mou ntai s high we go, 
The whistling winds that scud along, 

And the surge roaring from below, 
Shall my signal be to think on thee, 

And this shall be my song— 
Blow high, blow low, &c. 


And on that night when all the crew 
The mem’ry of their former lives, 
O’er flowing cans of flip renew, 
And drink their sweethearts and their wives, 
I'l] heave a sigh and think on thee ; 
And as the ship rolls through the sea, 
The burden of my song shall be— 
Blow high, blow low, &c. 


eee 


THE SEAMAN’S JOURNAL.—By Dibdin 


"T'was post meridian half past four, ’ 
By signal I from Nancy parted ; 
At six she linger’d on the shore, 
With uplift hands and broken hearted : 
At seven, while taught’ning the fore-stay, 
I saw her faint, or else ‘twas fancy ; 
At eight we all got under weigh, 
And bade a long adieu to Nancy. 


Night came, and now eight bells had rung, 
hen careless sailors, ever cheery, _ 
On the mid-watch so jovial sung, 
With tempers labour cannot weary. 


a ~ ¥ @ 
a \r 


_ THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 199 


I little to their mirth inclin’d, 
While tender thoughts rush’d on my fancy, 
‘And my warm sighs increas’d the wind, ~. 
Look’d on the moon and thought of Nancy. 


And now arriv’d that jovial night, 
When ev’ry true-bred tar carouses, 

When o’er the grog all hands delight, | - 
To toast their sweethearts and their spouses : 







And, when in turn it came to1 
. Lheav’d a sigh, and toasted Nancy. 


Next morn a storm came on at four; 
At six the elements in motion 
Plung’d me and three poor sailors more, 
Headlong into the foaming ocean ; 
Poor wretches, they soon found their graves ! 
For me, it may be only fancy, 
But love seem’d to forbid the waves 
To snatch me from the arms of Nancy. 


Scarce the foul hurricane was clear’d, | : 
Scarce winds and waves had ceas’d to rattle, 
When a bold enemy appear’d, 
And dauntless we prepar’d for battle. 
And now, while some lov’d friend or wife, 
Like lightning rush’d on every fancy, 
To Providence I trusted life, 
Put up a prayer, and thought on Nancy. 


At last ’twas in the month of May, 
' The crew, it being lovely weather, 
At three A. M. discover’d day, 
And England’s chalky cliffs together ; 
At seven, up channel, how we bore, : 
While hopes and fears possess’d my fancy ; 
At twelve, I gaily jump’d on shore, 
And to my throbbing heart press’d Naacy. 


Q 


de 
200 THE WESTERN SONGSTER. © 


» 


AMERICA, COMMERCE, AND FREEDOM, 


How hlest the life a sailor leads,» 
From clime to chime still ranging ! 
For as the calm the storm succeeds, 
The scene delights by changing. 
Though tempests howl along the main, 
Some objects will remind us, ; 
- And cheer with hope to meet again 
The friends we left behind us. ae 4 
Then under full sail we laugh at the gale, - a 
‘And tho’ landsmen look pale never heed them : 
But toss off.a glass to some favourite lass, . 
To America, commerce and freedom. 







But when arrived in sight of land, 
Or safe in port rejoicing ; . 

Our ship we moor, our sails we hand, 
Whilst out our boat is hoisting : 

With cheerful hearts the shore we reach, 
Our friends, delighted; greet us ; * 

And tripping lightly o’er the beach, 
The pretty lasses nreet us. 

When the full flowing bowl enlivens the sou!, 
To foot it we merrily bead them ; 

And each bonny lass will drink off her glass, 
To America, commerce and freedom. 


Our prizes sold, the chink we share, - 
And gladly we receive it; Res 
And when we meet a bapther tar 
That wants, we freely give it: 
No free born sailor yet had store, 
But cheerfully would lend it; 
And when ’tis gone—to sea for more— ; 
We earn it but to spend it. : 
Then drink round, my boys, ’tis the first of our joys, 
To relieve the distress’d, clothe, and feed them; 
’Tis a duty we share with the brave and the fair, 
In this land of commerce and freedom. - 


‘THE WESTERN JONGSTER. 201. 


THE TOPSAILS SHIVER IN THE WIND. 


The topsails shiver in the wind, 
Our ship she’s cast to sea, 
’ But yet my soul, my heart, my mind, 
’ Are, Mary, moor’d with thee; 
For though thy sailor’s bound afer, 
Still love shall be my leading star. 


Should landsmen flatter when we're sail’d, 

_ © doubt their artful tales, 

No gallant sailor ever fail 
If love breath’d constant ga 

Thou art the compass of my soul, 

Which steers my heart from pole to pole, 






These are ougcares : but if you're kind, 
We'll scorn the dashing main, 

The rocks, the billows, and the wind, 
Till we return again. 

.Now freedom’s glory rest with you, 

Our sails are full, sweet girl, adieu ! 





NEW WORDS TO “AULD LANG SYNE.” 
By a Kentuckian. 


At sober eve’s decline ; 
And all that’s lovely fade away. 
Of auld lang syne? &c. &c. 


Shall boyhood’s joys be ali forgot, 
Those joys no longer mine ; 

And Friendship’ s self remember not 
Dear days o’ lang syne? &c. &c. 


f ON Shall all the hues of morn decay 


b- Is love too, all a fabled dream, 
An image of the’ mind ; 
‘And her I lov’d, an Apri il bear 
Of auld lang syne ? &c, &e. 


202 | ‘THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 


Then fill the flowing goblet up 
“With love-inspiring wine, 

And beauty’s self shall kiss the cup, 
To auld lang syne, &c. &c. 





ELIZA. 


The shadows of eve ’gan to steal o’er the plain, 
To Eliza my heart I confess’d, . 

Love sanction’d the moment, she smil’d on my pain, 
On her lipa soft kiss { impress’d; 

I saw her warm cheek like heaven’s canopy glow, . 
When Aurora empurples the morn ; 

She loves me, oh! heaven, let me never forego, 
The faith on her lips I have sworn. ' 


This bosom, tho’ fervid with youth and with health, 
In all else shall persuasion control ;' ” 

Bid me fly from the charms of ambition and wealth, 
Or the joys of the bright doen bowl ; 

But Eliza! dear maid! till in earth I’m laid low, 
In my heart shall her image be borne, 

While she loves me, by heav’n, | will never forego, 
The faith on her lips I have sworn. 


BLUE BONNETS O’ER THE BORDER. 


Blue bonneted Scotch, arise to glory, 

Now’s the time your bonds to sever, 

Freedom’s torch gleams bright before ye, 
Strike the blow, and be free forever! 

Let not those hireling bands affright ye, 

Nor fill your ranks with base disorder, 
Remember, *tis freedom’s call invites you 

To march, Brave Blue Bonnets, o’er the Border. 


Too long have we felt oppression’s power, 
Too long Seotia has owned a master, 
At length’s arrived the trying hour 


To break our chains or rivet them faster. fen 


THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 203 


We'll ne’er let an usurper’s force confound us, 
Who loathe a hated tyrant’s order, 

And still, though thousands of foes surround us, 
We'll show them our Blue Bonnets o’er the Border. 


The tyrant Edward did boasting say . 

That his crusading host should visit our land, 

And his Zon for sport with our thistle would play, 

But he PN a that her prickles were not to be trifled 
with: 

For Wallace he met them, his Highlanders set on, 

As men who for liberty fight in geod order; 

His war cry, “the grave” or “ our-country we'll save,” 

And show them our Blue Bonnets o’er the Border. 


Though treachery’s hand subdued Wallace the Brave, 

The dark soul of Edward had cause to repent it, 

He found that the thistle and plume they would wave 

In the donnet, and Scotia would be independent ; 

For Bruce wv’ Montrose in their kilts and their hase, 

And their clans, ang their claymores and dirks in good 
order, 

We led them te victory, vengeance and liberty, 

And the piper played Blue Bonnets o’er the Border, 





LAURA’S GRAVE.— By a Gentleman of Kentucky, 


Of all the streams that gently flow, 
In murmurs to the sea, 

The stream that winds by Laura’s gravé, 
The sweetest seems to me; 

{ts whispers call the hours to mind, 
When with the lovely maid, 

Alone upon its bleaoming banks 
At summer eve I stray’d. 


Qf all the flowers that rich and gay, 
In field or forest grow, 

The rose that hangs by Laura’s grave 
Thé sweetest seems to blow ; 


Q2 


204 THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 


In it I see the ruddy hue 
And soft enchanting grace, 

Which once, when life and joy were hers, 
Adorned the maiden’s face. 


Of all the birds that wing the air, 
Or warble in the grove, 

None with their notes to me appear 
So soothing as the dove : 

She’s built her nest by Laura’s grave, 
Upon the willow tree, 

And whilst I sit beneath the shade, 
She gently mourns with me. 





O LILLA.— Composed and sung by Mr. Page. 


O Lilla, we live but by loving, 
Tis life in thy glances I seek! 
Thy heart never knew it was moving, 
*Till the bloom had been stol’n from thy cheek. 


Eyes are but crystals unbeaming, 

They’re diamonds if love but inspire ; 
Bosoms are snow as they’re seeming, 

Till love gives them light with his fire. 


When first of his flame you partook, love, 

- The god to thine eye gave his light; 

As the moon-beam that plays on yon brook, love, 
Thy glances were tremblingly bright. 


Hours have roll’d by, like the stream, love, 
Thy looks still as tremblingly play ; 

Many wavelets have wash’d the moon-beam, love, 
But each has reflected its ray. 





PENSEZ A‘ MOI, MA CHE‘RE AMIE! 


By Mr. J. G. Drake. 


When sorrow clouds thy dream of mirth, 
And promised joys fade too soon, 


THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 205 


When flowers lie scentless on the earth, 

Nor hope is left to gild the gloom; 
Then while sad thy heart may be 
Pensez 2 moi, ma chére amie ! 


When music sheds its sweetest lay, 

When dying winds are heard at night, 
And fancy with some magic ray 

Shall sooth the breast with visions bright ; 
‘Then while thy heart is calm and free, 
Pensez 2 moi, ma chére amie ! 


Fate may sunder ties the nearest, 
As now it tears this form from thine ; 
Hearts whose love is purest, dearest, 
Feel the blight that’s withering mine. 
Yet still with life ’twill cling to thee, 
Pensez @ moi, ma chéere amie / 


But now adieu—one pearly tear 
Is stealing down thy fever’d cheek, 
To kindred souls how sweet, how dear, 
Expressing more than tongue can speak, 
Pure as that tear my faith shall be, | 
Pensez @ moi, ma chere amie ! 





THE COUNTRY CLUB,.—By Diddin. 


Now we’re all met here together, . 
In spite of wind and weather, 
To moisten well our clay; 
Before we think of jogging, 
Let’s take a cheerful nogging ; ‘ 
Where’s the waiter ?—ring away !— 
Where’s the glees and the catches, 
The tobacco-pipes and matches, 
And plenty of brown stout ? 
- Yet the glasses ere we start ’em, 
Let’s proceed, secundem, artem, 
Let the clerk all the names read out, 


€ 


1 
iY 


06 THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 


z 


Spoken.| Gentlemen of the Quizzical Society, please 
to answer to your names.—Farmer Scroggins? Why I 
be here.—Doctor Horseleach ? Here.—Parson Paunch ? 
Here.—Taylor Tit? Here.—(So he goes on for about 
twenty.) At last—you’re here—are you all assembled ? 
All, all, all, all— 


So, here’s to you, Mr. Wiggins, 
Here’s to you, Master Higgins, 
So put the beer about. 


Come tell us what the news is, 
Who wins and who loses, 
Of the times, what do people say ? 
Hard, hard the landlord racks us, 
Then we’ve such a lead of taxes ; 
Indeed! well, and how goes the hay ? 
Why, now there’s Mr. Wiseman, 
He tells the exciseman ~ 
The cause of all this pother and rout— 
Order! order and sobriety 
Are the rules of this society. 
Let the secretary read them out. 


Spoken.| Every member of this society that spills his 
liquor in his neighbour’s pocket shall forfeit 2¢d.—Every 
member of this society that singes his neighbour’s wig 
with his pipe shall forfeit 2¢—Every member of this 
society that refuses to laugh at a good joke shall forfeit” 
2d,—Every member of this society who reproaches his 
neighbour with coming to distress by unavoidable mis- 
fortunes shall forfeit 2d.—Mr. President, I move that 
this forfeit be a shilling. And I second the motion. 
Are you all agreed? Iam, unanimously.—A noble reso- 
jution.—D’ye think so ? 

Why, then, here’s to you, &c. 
And now the potent liquor 
Not even spares the vicar, 

But to all their noddles mounts, 
While among this set of queerers, 
All talkers and no hearers, 

Each his favourite tale recounts : 


¥ 


‘We 


THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 207 


The soldier talks of battle, 
‘The grazier sells his cattle, 
A Conversation to provoke; ~~ 
| © Till thé juice of the barrel 
_ Begets some curious quarrel, 
While the company’s lost in smoke. - 


Spoken.] Upon my soul, neighbour, I had no hand in 
the death of your wife; it was all in the way of business. 
Nay, but doctor, ’twere a cursed unneighbourly thing of 
you; not that the woman were any sitch great things, but 
to put a body to sitch an expense.— Why, you don’t tell 
me so! killed fifteen with your own hand? Fifteen, by 
my laurels! D’ye hear that, butcher? Hear it, yes; but 
V’ll lay’im what he dares, he has not killed so many as I 





’ have by hundreds,—Powder my whiskers, says the bar- 


ber. Come, come, gentlemen, says the bellows-maker, 

no breezes. Let me exhort you to temperance, says 

the parson. Amen, says the clerk. That’s right, says 

the undertaker, let us bury all animosities. That’s what 

I like, says the fidler, I like to see harmony restored. 

D’ye, though ?—you like to see harmony restored ! 
Why, then, here’s' to you, &c. 





WHEN VULCAN FORGED THE BOLTS OF JOVE. 


By Dibdin, 


When Vulcan forged the bolts of Jove, 
In Etna’s roaring glow, 

Neptune petition’d he might prove 

’ Their use and power below. 

‘But finding in the boundless deep - 
Such thunders would but idly sleep, - 

- He with them armed Britannia’s hand, 

To guard from foes our native land. 


Long may she hold the awful right, 
And when, through circling flame, 

She darts her vengeance in the fight, 
May Justice guide her aim : 


308 THE WESTERN SONGSTER, 


And when engaged in future wars, 
. Our heroes bold, and gallant tars, ‘ 

Shall i) her fires, from every Poh ‘ud 

On evexy foe to Britain’s land. — i, 









THE DASHING WHITE : SERIEANT. 


ifL hada beau | 
For a soldier who’d go, 
Do you think I’d say no? 
No, not I! 
When his red coat I saw, 
Not a sigh would it draw, : 
- But give him eclat for his bravery ! 
If an army of amazons e’er came in play, # 
As a dashing white serjeant I’d march wich 
March. away, &c. 


When my soldier was gone, 

D’ye think I'd take on; 

Sit moping forlorn? 

No, not I! 

His fame my concern, 

How my bosom wowd burn, | 

When I saw him return, crowned with victory. 
If an army of AMAZON, ee, 





AULD ROBIN GRAY.—By Lady Ann Lindsay. 


When a sheep were in the feud, and the kye a’ at 
name, | 

And a’ the warld to sleep are gane, 5 | 

‘The waes of my heart fa in showers frae my e’e 

When my gudeman lies sound by me; 

Young he amie loo’d me weel, and he-sought me for his — 
ride, 

But, saving of a crown, he had naething beside ; 


7 


a 
+ 


THE WESTERN SONGSTER. - 208. 


Yo mak that crown a pound, my Jamie ga’ed to sea, 

And the crown and the ei were baith for me. 
idles, 

cow was stoun 








My father | Wik his arm, and my Jamie at the sea, 

And Auld Robin Gray cam a courtin me; 

My father could na work, and my mither could na spin, 

I toiled day and night, bine their bread I could na win; 3 

_ Auld Rob maintain’d them baith,’and wi’stears in his e’e, 
Said, “ Jenny, for their sakes, O marry me!” . 


My heart it said na, I look’d for Jamie back, 

But the wind it blew high, and the ship it was a wreck ; 

The ship it was a wreck, why did nae Jenny die, 

And why do [I live to say—O waes me! 

Auld Robin argued sair, though my mither did nae 
speak, 

She looked in my face till my heart was like to break ; 

So I gied him my hand, though my heart was at the sez, 

And Auld Robin Gray is gudeman to me. 


I Had na been a wife a week, but only four, 
When, sitting sae fabhientnily at the door, 
isaw my Jamie’s wraith, for I could na think it he, 
Till he said—“I’ve come back fox to marry thee.” 

O sair did we greet, and muckle did we say, 

We took but ae kiss, and we tore ourselves away, 
I wish I were dead, but I’m no like to die, 

And why do I live to say—O waes me! 

I gang like a ghaist and care na to spin; 

I dare nae think of Jamie for that would be a sin ; 
But I’ll do my best a gude wife to be, 
For Auld Robin Gray’s kind to me. 


- 





‘'TWAS YOU, SIR.—A Carex, 
By Lord Mornington, 


Twas you sir, "twas you Sif, 
1 tell you a new, sir, 


210 THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 


_ *Twas you that kiss’d the pretty girl, 
"Twas you, sit, you; 
Tis true sir, tis true, sir, 

Yo 








2 look so very blue, sir, a 
3 Ey" eee) pes eta 8 
{ m sure you kiss’d the pretty girl, sae 
Tis true, sir, true ; 
Oh, six, no, sir, 
How can you wrong me so, sir? 
{ did not kiss the pretty girl— 
But I know who. . 





LITTLE TAFFLINE WITH A SILKEN SASE. 
By Prince Hoare. — 


Should e’er the fortune be my lot 
To be made a wealthy bride, 
Vil glad my parents’ lowly cot, 
All their pleasure and their pride : 
And when I’m drest 
All in my best, 
Like a lady gay, 
Pll trip away, - 
And the lads will say,—* dear heart! what a flash ! 
Look at little Taffline with a silken sash.” 


Oh! then what pleasure to be seen, 
When the lads at ev’ning meet, “ 
With silken sash of pink or green, 
Silken roses on my feet. 
How folks will stare, 
As hur goes by: 
“See, see,” they’ll cry, 
Her.flaunty air.” + Hi 
And.the lads will say,—* dear heart ! what a flash! 
Look at little Taffline with a silken sash.” 


ERE AROUND THE HUGE OAK.—By O’ Keefe. 


Ere around the huge oak, that o’ershadows yon mill, 
The fond ivy had dagid to entwine; - ‘ 


THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 217 
‘h 
Ere the church was a ruin that nods on the hill, 
Or a rook built his nest on the pine— 


Could I trace back the time, of a far dist: 
Since my forefathers toil’d in this field; 


And the farm I now hold on your honour’s estate, 
Is the same which my grandfather till’d. 


He, dying, bequeath’d to his son a good name, 
Which, unsullied, descended to me; 

For my child lve preserv’d it, unblemish’d with shame, 
And it still from a spot shall go free. 





* 





SHE WALKS IN BEAUTY.—By Byron. 


She walks in beauty like the night 
Of cloudless climes and starry skies ; 
And all that’s best of dark and bright 
Meet in her aspect and her eyes; 
Thus mellowed to that tender light 
Which heayen to gaudy day denies. 


One shade the more, one ray the less 
And half impaired the nameless grace 
Which waves in every raven tress, 
Or softly lightens o’er her face; 
Where thoughts serenely sweet express 
How pure—how dear the dwelling place. 


And on that cheek and o’er that brow 
' So soft, so calm, yet eloquent, 
The smiles that win, the tints that glow, 
But tell of days in goodness spent, 
A mind at peace with all below, 
A heart whose love is innocent. 





SALLY IN OUR ALLEY.—By H. Carey, 
Of all the girls that are so smart, 
There’s none like pretty Sally, 
She is the darling of my heart, 
And she lives in our alley ; 
R 


212 


THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 


There is no lady in the land 
Is half so sweet as Sally ; 
She is the darling of my heart, 
And she lives in our alley. 
Her father he makes cabbage-nets, 
And through the streets does cry ’em; 
Her mother she sells laces long, 
To such as please to buy ’em ; 
But sure such folks could ne’er beget 
So sweet a girl as Sally ; 
She is the darling of my heart, 
And she lives in our alley. 


When she is by, I leave my work, 
(1 love her so sincerely,) 

My master comes, like any Turk, 
And bangs me most severely ; 

But let him bang his belly full, 
Pll bear it all for Sally ; 

She is the darling of my heart, 
And she lives in our alley. 


Of all the days that’s in the week, 
I dearly love but one day, 
And that’s the day that comes betwixt 
A Saturday and Monday ; 
For then I’m drest all in my best, 
To walk abroad with Sally ; 


She is the darling of my heart, 


And she lives in our alley. 


My master carries me to church, . 
And often am I blamed, 

Because I leave him in the lurch, 
As soon as text is named. 

I leave the church in sermon time, 
And slink away to Sally ; 

She is the darling of my heart, 
And she lives in our alley. 


When Christmas comes about again, 


0! then I shall have money, 
# 


THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 213 


Pil hoard it up, and box and all, 
Vil give it to my honey ; 

I would it were ten thousand pounds, 
I’d give it all to Sally: 

She is the darling of my heart, 
And she lives in our alley. 


My master and the néighbours all, 
Make game of me and Sally, 

And (but for her) Pd better be 
A slave and row a galley ; 

But when my’ seven long years are out, 
O! then Ill marry Sally ; 

O! then we’ll wed, and then we’ll bed, 
But not in our alley. 





THE UNIVERSITY OF GOTTINGEN. 
By the Right Hon, George Canning. 


Whene’er with haggard eyes I view 
This dungeon that I’m rotting in, 

I think of those companions true, 

_ Who studied with me at the U— 

—niversity of Gottingen. 

—niversity of Gottingen. 


Sweet ’kerchief, echeck’d with heavenly blue, 
Which once my love sat. knotting in! — 
Alas! Matilda then was true! 
At least I thought so at the U— 
—niversity of Gottingen. 
—njversity of Gottingen. 


Barbs, barbs, alas! hew swift ye flew, 
Her neat post waggon trotting in! 
Ye bore Matilda from my view, 
Forlorn I languished at the U— 
—niversity of Gottingen. 
—niversity of Gottingen. 


214 THE WESTERN SONGSTER,. 


This faded form! this pallid hue ! 
This blood my veins are clotting in ; 
My years are many, they were few 
When first I entered at the U— 
—niversity of Gottingen. 
—niversity of Gottingen. 


There first for thee my passion grew, 
Sweet, sweet Matilda Pottingen ! 
Thou wast the daughter of my tu 
-—-tor, law professor of the U— 
—niversity of Gottingen. 
—niversity of Gottingen. 


Sun, moon, and thou vain world, adieu! 
That kings and priests are plotting in; 
Here doomed to starve on water-gru— 
-~el, never shall I see the U— 
—niversity of Gottingen. 
—niversity of Gottingen. 





0! "TIS LOVE! °TIS LOVE! 
Am— C’est PAmour.? 


0! *tis love! *tis love! ’tis love! 
From woman’s bright eye glancing ; 
O! ’tis love! ’tis love! *tis love! 
Every heart entrancing. 
What claims the monarch’s duty ? 
What soothes the peasant’s pain? 
What melts the haughty beauty, 
And conquers her disdain ? 
O! tis love! &e. 


O! *tislove! ’tis love! °’tis love! 
The warrior doth inspire, 

9! *tis love! *tis love! ’tis love t 
That kindles soft desire. : 


s 


THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 248 


On rocks or lonely mountains, 
In palaces or vales, 
In gay saloons near fountains, 
*Tis love alone prevails. 
_O! tis love! &c. 





HEAVING THE LEAD.—By Pearce. 


For England, when, with fav’ring gale 

Our gallant ship up channel steer’d, 
And scudding under easy sail, 

The high blue western land appear’d, 
‘To heave the lead the seaman sprung, 
And to the pilot cheerly sung, 

“ By the deep—Nine |” 


And bearing up to gain the port; 
Some well-known object kept in view— 
An abbey-tow’r, a harbour-fort, 
Or beacon to the vessel true ; 
While oft the lead the seaman flung, 
And to the pilot cheerly sung, 
‘6 By the mark—SrvEN.” 


And as the much lov’d shore we near, 
With transport we behold the roof 
Where dwelt a friend or partner dear, 

Of faith and love a matchless proof! 
The lead once more the seaman flung, 
And to the watchful pilot sung, 

‘“‘ Quarter less—FivE!” 


Now to her birth the ship draws nigh, 
With slacken’d sail she feels the tide; 
* Stand clear the cable!” is the cry— 
The anchor’s gone, we safely ride. 
The watch is set, and through the night, 
We hear the seaman with delight, 
** Proclaim. —Aut’s WELL.” 


R 2 


% 


THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 


THE KISS.—By Byron. 


The kiss, dear maid, thy lips have left, 
Shall never part from mine, 

Till happier hours restore the gift 
Untainted back to thine. 

The parting glance that fondly gleams, - 
An equal love may see; 

The tear that from the eyelid streams 
Can weep no change in me. . 

_ The kiss, &c. 


1 ask no pledge to make me blest, 
In gazing when alone ; 
Nor one memorial for a breast, 
Whose thoughts are all thine own ; 
By day or night, in weal or woe, 
That heart no longer free, 
Must bear the love it cannot show, 
And silent ache for thee, 
The kiss, &c. 


pee 


ADIEU! ADIEU! MY NATIVE SHORE.—By Byron, 


Adieu! adieu! my native shore 
Fades o’er the waters blue ; ’ 
The night-winds sigh, the breakers roar, 
And shrieks the wild sea-mew. 
Yon sun that sets upon the sea, 
We follow in his flight ; 
Farewell, awhile, to him and thee, 
My native land—good night! 


With thee, my bark, I’ll swiftly go 
Athwart the foaming brine; ! 
Nor care what land thou bear’st me to 
So not again to mine, 
Welcome, welcome, ye dark blue waves, 
And, when ye fail my sight, . 
Welcome, ye deserts and ye caves— 
My native land—good night! 


THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 217 


THE GONDOLIERS’ SONG. 


Soon as the busy day is o’er, 
And evening comes, with pleasant shade, 
We Gondoliers, from shore to shore, 
Merrily ply our jovial trade ; 
And while the moon shines on the stream, 
And while soft music breathes around, 
The feathering oars return the gleam, 
And dip in concert to the sound. 


“¢ 


Down by some convent’s mould’ring walls, 
Oft we bear the enamoured youth, 
Softly the watchful fair he calls, 
Who whispers vows of love and truth. 
And while the moon, &c. 


Oft where the proud Rialto swells, 
With happier pairs we circle round, 
Whose secret sighs fond Echo tells, 
Whose murmured vows she bids resound, 
And while the moon, &c. 


Then joys the youth that love concealed, 
And fearful love must own its sighs ; 
Then smiles the maid to hear revealed 
How more than ever she complies. 
And while the moon, &c. 





THE HUSBAND AND CHILDREN WE LOVE. 


- Arn—“Whistle and Pil come to you.” (Bryant.) 
When first a poor girl feels love’s tender smart, 


She’s.qualmish, she oft feels a pain at her heart; 
She sighs, and she cries, lest her dearie should rove, 
And alas! she finds out that she’s dying for love! 
Alas! she finds out that she’s dying for love! 
Alas! she finds out that she’s dying for love! 
But this, of all things, we poor girls then can prove, 
There’s no lad on earth like the lad that we love. 


218 THE WESTERN SONGSTEK. 


We blush, smile or frown, as he’s right or he’s wrong, 
We dance when we please, or we sing him a song; 
And before we are wed, if we feel the least pique, 
We can hold our tongues if we like for a week; 

But still we find out that we’re dying for love, &c. 


But when we are married, enraged, we grow hot, 
And hubby, poor hubby, discovers what’s what! 
There’s the boy bawling hete, and girl squalling there, 
While the father is pulling bis wig in despair ! 
But still all this trouble brings nothing but love, 
O, still all this trouble brings nothing but love ; 
And this of all things, we poor wives can then prove, 
That our joy’s in the husband and children we love! 





PADDY THE PIPER. 


When I was a boy in my father’s mud edifice, 
Tender and bare as a pig in a stye, 
_ Out at the door as I looked with a steady phiz, 
' . Who but Pat Murphy the piper came by! 
' Says Paddy, but few play this music, can you play? 
Says I, 1 can’t tell for I never did try. 
He told me that he had a charm, 
To make the pipes prettily speak, 
Then squeez’d a bag under his arm, 
And sweetly they set up a squeak! 
. vibrate fara lara loo, ogh! hone, how he handled the 
And then such sweet music he blew, ’twould have melt- - 
ed the heart of a stone. 


Your pipe, says I, Paddy, so neatly comes over me, 
Naked Ill wander wherever it blows; 
And if my father should try to recover me, 
Sure it won’t be by describing my clothes; 
The musie I hear now takes hold of my ear now, 
And leads me all over the world by the nose; 
So I follow’d his bag-pipes so sweet, . 
And sung; as I leap’d like a frog, 


on 


THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 219 
Adieu to my family seat, _ 
So pleasantly plac’d in a bog; 
And then such sweet music he blew, *twould have melt- 
ed the heart of a stone. 
With my fara lara, &c. 


Full five years I follow’d him, nothing could sunder us, 
Till he one morning had taken a sup, 
And slipp’d from a bridge into a river just under us, 
Souse to the bottom just like a blind pup! 
I roar’d and ¥ bawl’d out, and lustily cali’d out, 
O Paddy, my friend, don’t you mean to come up ? 
He was dead as a nail in the door, 
Poor Paddy was laid on the shelf, 
So I took up his pipes on the shore, 
And now I’ve set up for myself, 
With my fara lara, to be sure I have not got the nack, 
To play fara loo, &c. 





HERE’S A HEALTH TO ANE, 


Here’s a health to ane I lo’e dear, 

Here’s a health to ane I lo’e dear; 

Thou art sweet as the smile when fond lovers meet, 
And soft as their parting tear, Jessy. 

Altho’ thou maun never be mine, 

Altho’ even hope is denied ; 

°Tis sweeter for thee despairing 

Than aught in the world beside, Jessy. 


Here’s a health to ane I lo’e dear, 

Here’s a health to ane I lo’e dear; 

Thou art sweet as the smile when fond lovers meet, 
And soft as their parting tear, Jessy. 

i mourn through the gay, gaudy day, 

As hopeless I muse on thy charms; 

But welcome the dream of sweet slumber, 

For then I am lock’d in thy arms, Jessy. 


Here’s a health to ane I lo’e dear, 
Here’s a health to ane I lo’e dear; 


226 THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 


Thou art sweet as the smile when fond lovers meet, 
And soft as their parting tear, Jessy. 
I guess by thy dear angel smile, _ 
I guess by thy soft rolling ee: 

But what urges the tender confession 
*Gainst fortune’s stern, cruel decree ! 





YELLOW HAIR’D LADDIE. 


In April when primroses paint the sweet plain, — 

And summer approaching rejoiceth the swain, 

The yellow-hair’d laddie would oftentimes go 

To wilds and deep glens where the hawthorn trees 
grow, 


There, under the shade of an old sacred thorn, 
With freedom he sung his loves, ev’ning and morn; 
He sang with so soft and enchanting a sound, 

That sylvans and fairies, unseen, danc’d around. 


The shepherd thus sung: Tho’ young Maddie be fair, 
‘Her beauty is dash’d with a scornful proud air ; 

But Susie was handsome, and sweetly could sing ; 
Her breath like the breezes perfum’d in the spring. 


That Maddie, in all the gay bloom of her youth, 

Like the moon was inconstant, and never spoke truth; ~ 
But Susie was handsome, good humour’d, and free, 

And fair as the goddess that sprung from the sea. 


That mamma’s fine daughter, with all her great dow’r, 
Was awkwardly airy, and frequently sour : 

Then sighing, he wish’d, would but parents agree, 
The witty sweet Susie his mistress might be. 


MAGGY LAUDER. 
Wha wadna be in love, 
Wi’ bonny Maggy Lauder ? 
A piper met her gaun to Fifep 9 
And speer’d what was’t they ca’d her; 


THE WESTERN SONGSTER. a1 


Right scornfully she answer’d him, 
Begone you hallan shaker, 
Jog on your gate, you bladderskate; 
» My name is Maggy Lauder. 


Maggy, quoth he, and by my bags, 
I’m fidging fain to see thee; 
Sit down by me, my bonny bird, 
In troth I winna steer thee : 
For I’m a piper to my trade, 
My name is Rob the Ranter, 
The lasses loup as they were daft, 
When [ blaw up my chanter. 


Piper, quoth Meg, hae you your bag, 
Or is your drone in order; 

If you be Rob, I’ve heard of you, 
Live you upon the border ? 

The lasses a’ baith far an’ near, 
Have heard of Rob the Ranter; 

Vl shake my foot wi’ right good will, 
Gif ye’ll blaw up your chanter. 


Then to his bags he flew wi’ speed, 
About the drone he twisted ; 
Meg up and wallop’d o’er the green, 
For brawly could she frisk it; 
Weel done, quoth he ; Play up, quoth she; 
Weel bob’d, guoth Rob the Ranter, 
*Tis worth my while to play indeed, 
When I hae sic a dancer. 


Weel hae you play’d your part, quoth Meg, 
Your cheeks are like the crimson : 

-There’s nane in Scotland plays sae weel, 
Since we lost Habby Simpson. 

lve liv’d in Fife, baith maid and wife, 
These ten years and a quarter ; 

Fin ye should come to Enster fair, 
Speer ye for Maggy Lauder. 


222 


THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 


MY NANIE, O. 


Behind yon hills where Lugar flows, 
*Mong moors and mosses many, O; 

The wintry sun the day has clos’d, 
And I'll awa to Nanie, O. 


The westlin wind blaws loud and shrill. 
The night’s baith mirk and rainy, O; 

But Pll get my plaid and out [ll steal, 
And owre the hill to Nanie, O. 


My Nanie’s charming, sweet, and young’; 
Nae artful wiles to win ye, O! 

May ill befa’ the flatt’ring tongue 
That wad beguile my Nanie, O. 


Her face is fair, her heart is true, 
As spotless as she’s bonie, O, 
The op’ning gowan wet wi’ dew 
Nae purer is than Nanie, Q. 


A country lad is my degree, 
And few there be that ken me, O; 
But what care I how few there be, 
I’m welcome ay to Nanie, O. 


My riches a’s my penny fee, 
And I maund guide it cannie, O; 
But warl’s gear ne’er troubles me, 
My thoughts are a’, my Nanie, OQ. 


Our auld guidman delights to view, 
His sheep and kye thrive bonie, O; 
But I’m as blithe that hauds his plough, 
And has nae care but Nanie, O. 


Come weel, come wo, I care na by, 
Pll tak what heaven will send me, O; 
Nae ither care in life have I, . 
But live and love my’Nanie, O. 


ces) 


THE WESTERN SONGSTER, 2 


to 


MY NATIVE VALE. 


Dear is my little native vale, | 
The ring-dove builds and warbles there ; 
Close by my cot she tells her tale 
To every passing villager! 
The squirrel leaps from tree to tree, 
And shells his nuts at liberty. 


In orange groves, or myrtle bow’rs, 
That breathe a gale of fragrance round ; 
I charm’d the fairy-footed hours, 
With my lov’d lute’s romantic sound ; 
Or crown of living laurel weave, ‘ 
For those who win the race at eve. 


The shepherd’s horn at break of day, ° 
The ballad dane’d in twilight glade ; 
The canzonet and roundelay, 
Sung in the silent greenwood shade 
These simple joys that never fail, 
Shall bind me to my native vale, 





SEAL OF LOVE. 


Take, ch take those lips away, 
That so sweetly were forsworn, 

And those eyes, the break of day, 
Lights that do mislead the morn : 

But my kisses bring again, 

Seals of love, but seal’d in vain. 


Hide, oh hide those hills of snow, 

- Which thy frozen bosom bears, 

On whose tops the pinks that grow, 
Are of those that April wears, 

But first set my poor heart free, 

Bound in those.icy chains by thee. 


Ss) 


224 THE WESTERN SONGSTER- 


LOVELY NAN. 


Sweet is the ship that under sail, | 
Spreads her white bosom to the gale, 
Sweet, O sweet’s the flowing can ; 
Sweet to poise the lab’ring oar, 
‘That tugs us to our native shore, 
When the boatswain pipes the barge to man ; 
Sweet sailing with a flowing breeze, 
But O much sweeter than all these, 
Is Jack’s delight, his lovely Nan. 


The needle, faithful to the north, 
To show of constancy the worth, 

A curious lesson teaches man; 
The needle, time may rust, a squall 
fapsize the binnacle and all, 

Let seamanship do all it can; 

My love, in worth shall higher rise, 
No time shall rust, nor squall capsize, 
My faith and truth Pav FH Nan. 


When in the bilboes I was penn’d, 
For serving of a worthless friend, 

And every creature from me ran; 
No ship performing quarantine, 
Was ever so deserted seen, 

None hail’d me, woman, child, or man: 
But tho’ false friendship’s sails were furl’d, 
Tho’ cut adrift from all the world, 

i'd all the world in lovely Nan. 


L.love my duty, love my friend, 
Love truth and merit to defend, 

To mourn their loss who hazard ran ; 
I love to take an honest part, 

Love beauty and a spotless heart, - 

By manners love to show the man; 
To steal through life by honour’s breeze, 
*T was all along of loving these, 

First magle me doat on lovely Nan: 


‘DHE WESTERN SONGSTER.. 225, 


MY MIND [S MY KINGDOM.—By Campbell. 


My mind is my kingdom, but if thou wilt deign 
A queen there to sway without measure ; 

Then come, o’er its wishes and homage to reign, 
And make it an empire of pleasure. 


Then of thoughts and emotions each mutinous crowd, 
That rebelled at stern reason and duty, ©. 
Returning—shall yield all their loyalty proud 
To the halcyon dominion of beauty. 





THE SOLDIER’S DREAM.—By Campbell. 


Our bugles sang truce—for the night-cloud had lowered 
And the sentinel stars set their watch in the sky; . 

And thousands had sunk on the ground overpowered, 
The weary to sleep, and the wounded to die. 


When reposing that night on my pallet of straw, 

By the wolf-scaring faggot that guarded the slain ; 
At the dead of the night a sweet vision I saw, 

And thrice ’ere the morning I dreamt it again. 


_ Methought from the battle-field’s dreadful array, 
Far, far I had roamed on a desolate track ; 
*T was autumn—and sunshine arose on the way 
To the home of my fathers, that welcomed me back. 


I flew to the pleasant fields traversed so oft 

In life’s morning march, when my bosom was young’; 
I heard my own mountain-goats bleating aloft, 

And knew the sweet strain that the corn-reapers sung. 


Then pledged we the wine-cup, and fondly I swore, 
From my home and my weeping friends never to part ; 
My little ones kissed me a thousand times o’er 
_ “And my wife sobbed aloud in her fulness of heart. 


Stay, stay with us—rest, thou art weary and worn, 
And fain was their war-broken soldier to stay ; 

But sorrow returned with the dawning of morn, 
And the voice in my dreaming ear melted away. 


wes 


(2296 THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 


THE BUCKET.—By Samuel Woodworth, Esq. 


IfLow dear to this heart are the scenes of my childhood, — 
When fond recollection recals them to view— . 

The orchard, the meadow, the deep-tangled wild-wood, 
And ev’ry lov’d spot which my infancy knew ; _ 

The wide spreading pond, and the mill which stood by it, 
The bridge, and the rock where the cataract fell, 

The cot of my father, dairy-house nigh it, 

The old oaken bucket—the iron bound bucket— 

The moss covered bucket, which hung in the well. 


That moss covered vessel I hail as a treasure, 
For often, at noon, when returned from the field, 
I found it the source of an exquisite pleasure, 
The purest and sweetest that nature can yield ; 
How ardent I seiz’d it, with hands that were glowing, 
And quick to the white pebbled bottom it fell, 
Then soon, with the emblem of truth overflowing, 
And dripping with coolness, it rose from the well 
The old oaken bucket—the iron bound bucket— 
‘The moss covered bucket arose from the well. 


How sweet from the green mossy brim to receive it, 
As pois’d on the cord, it inclined to my lips; 

Not a full blushing goblet could tempt me to leave it, 
Though fill’d with the nectar that Jupiter sips, 

And now far removed from the lov’d situation, 
The tear of regret will intrusively swell, 

As fancy revisits my father’s plantation, ‘. 
And sighs for the bucket which hangs in his well— 


‘The old oaken bucket—the iron bound bucket— 


The moss covered bucket, which hangs in his well. 





HONEY AND MUSTARD. 


Sir Jerry Go-Nimble was lame of a leg, 
Hey diddle, ho diddle dee, . 
And my Lady Go-Nimble had barely one peg ; 
Por a very old lady was she. 


THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 297 


Siz Jerry, when married, was just twenty-two ; 
My lady fourscore, when Sir J. came to woo: 
As ugly as Poles, but as rich as a Jew. 


- (Spoken.)—How we used to laugh at the old creature 
when she used to sing, 


Hey diddle, ho diddle, hey diddle dee, 
Sing hey diddle, ho diddle dee. 


At the wedding, my lady was ask’d for a song, 
Hey diddle, ho diddle:dee ; 

“ Oh,” says she, “to comply I’ll not hesitate long, 
But I own ’mnot quite in the key.” 

Then she gave a queer look, ’twixt a squint and a grin,. 

And screw’d up her snuff-colour’d lips to begin— fap 

Like two bellows-handles she mov’d nose and chin 


(Spoken.) When she sung— 
What?s life without passion ? 
Sweet passion of love ! 
Hey diddle, ho diddle, hey diddle dee, &c. 


This pair of true lovers they liv’d‘upon love, 
Hey diddle, ho diddle dee ; 

And the honey-moon lasted a week and above, 
And then ’twas all mustard for she. 

Sir Jerry was fond of his cards, dice and hits, 

And my lady fell into historical fits, 

And for cruelty drank herself out of her wits. 


(Spoken.) Poor soul! she wandered about like Crazy 
Jane, with a wisp of straw in one hand, and a brandy 
bottle in the other, 


Singing—He was false, and I’m undone— 
Hey diddle, ho diddle, hey diddle dee, &c, 


At last by this sad hydrafogy she died, 
Hey diddle, ho diddle dee; 

And her grim ghost it came by J erry’s bed side, 
Saying, list! for ’m come for thee! 


$s 2 


828 THE WESTERN SONGSTER, 


Sir Jerry he hid himself under the clothes, 

But the ghost very soon pull’d him out by the toes, 

Threw him out of the window, and cried, “there he goes!” 
(Spoken.) And there he went sure enough, singing—~ 


Hey diddle, ho diddle, hey diddle dee, 
Hey diddle, ho diddle dee. 





FOR THE FOURTH OF JULY. 
Airn—* Yankee Doodle.” 


Yankee Doodle is the tune 
Americans delight in; 
Twill do to whistle, sing, or play, 
And just the thing for fighting. 
Chorus.—Yankee Doodle, boys, huzza! 
Down outside, up the middle~ 
Yankee Doodle, fa, sol, la, 
Trumpet, drum, and fiddle. 


Should Great Britain, Spain, or France, 
Wage war upon our shore, sir, 
We'll lead them such a woundy dance, | 
They’ll find their toes are sore, sir. 
Yankee Doodle, &c. 


Should a haughty foe expect 
To give our boysa caning, 
We guess they’ll find the lads have larnt 
A little bit of training. 
Yankee Doodle, &c. 


Vil wager now a mug of flip, 
And bring it on the table, 
Put Yankee boys aboard a ship, 
To beat them they are able. 
Yankee Doodle, &e. 


Then if they go to argufy, 
I rather guess they’ll find too, ° 
We've gota set of tonguey blades, 
To out-talk ’em, if they’re mind to. 
Yankee Doodle, &c. 


THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 


America’s a dandy place; 
The people are all brothers; 
And when one’s got a pumpkin pie, 
He shares it with the others, _ ; 
Yankee Doodle, &c. 


We work, and sleep, and pray in peace— 
By industry we thrive, sir ; 
And if a drone won’t do his part, 
We’ll scout him from the hive, sir. 
Yankee Doodle, &c, 


And then on INDEPENDENCE DAY 
(And who’s a better right to ?) 
We eat and drink, and sing and play, 
And have a dance at night to, 
Yankee Doodle, &c. 


Our girls are fair, our boys are tough, 
Our old folks wise and healthy ; 
And when we’ve-every thing enough, 
We count that we are wealthy. 
Yankee Doodle, &c. 


We’re happy, free, and well to do, 
And cannot want for knowledge ; 
For almost every mile or two, 
You find a school or college. 
Yankee Doodle, &e. 


The land we till is all our own! 
Whate’er the price, we paid it; 
Therefore we’ll fight till all is blue, 
Should any dare invade it. 
Chorus.——Yankee Doodle, boys; huzza! 


229 


Down outside, up the middle 


Yankee Doodle, fa, sol, la, 
Trumpet, drum, and fiddle. 


eS 


DEAR MAID I LOVE THEE. 
Dear maid by ev’ry hope of bliss, — 
By love’s first pledge the virgin kiss, 
By heaven and earth I love thee ; 


- 


230 


THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 


For ever in this heart shall dwell 

The lovely form whose charms compet 

This falt’ring tongue to softly tell, 
How much, dear maid, f love thee. 


Tho’ time or place should intervene, 
Still time that changes ev’ry scene, 

Would make me still more love thee ; 
Tho’ far apart as pole from pole, 
Estill should feel thy lov’d control, 
While my devoted constant soul, 

Would but exist to love thee, 

While my devoted constant soul 
Would but exist to love thee. 





“PVE BEEN ROAMING.” 


I’ve been roaming, I’ve been roaming; 
Where the meadow dew is sweet, 

And I’m coming, and ’m coming, 
With its pearls upon my feet; 

I’ve been roaming, I’ve been roaming, 
O’er the rose and lilly fair, 

And P’'m coming, and I’m coming, 

_. With the blossom in my hair. 

Pve been roaming, P’ve been roaming, 
Where the meadow dew is sweet, 

And Pm coming, and ’m coming, 
With its pearls upon my feet. 

I’ve been roaming, Pve been roaming, 
Where the honey-suckle creeps, 

Andl’m coming, and ?m coming, 
With its kisses on my ips. 

Pve been roaming, I’ve been roaming, 
Over hill aud over plain, 

AndVm coming, and I’m coming, 
To my bower back again. 


i i 


THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 231 


if A BODY MEET A BODY COMIN’ THRO’ THE - 
RYE. 


{f a body meet a body, comin’ thro’ the rye, 
If a body kiss a body, need a body cry; 
Ev’ry Lassie has her Laddie, 
" Nane they say, ha’ J, 
Yet a’ the Lads they smile at mew) 
When comin’ thro’ the rye, @ 
Among the train there is a swain I dearly lo’e mysel’, 
But where his hame or what his name, I dinnacare to tell. 
If a body meet a body comin’ frae the town, 
If a body greet a body need a body frown; 
Ev’ry Lassie has her Laddie, 
Nane they say, ha’I, 
Yet a’ the Lads they smile at me, 
When comin’ thro’ the rye, 
Among the train, there is a swain I dearly lo’e mysel’, 
But where his hame or what his name, I dinna care to tell. 













THE LAD THAT I LOVE.—By E. Kean. 


The lad that I love no lassie shall know oh; oh; 

The path that he treads to no one I’ll show, oh ; oh; 
His heart is all truth when ever we meet, 

Then why should new faces e’er teach him deceit, 
Oh; no, I will keep him and cherish him so, oh; oh; 
That beauty herself shant tempt him to go, oh; oh. 


The church is hard by I very well know, ob; oh; 

He show’d me the door and press’d my hand so, oh; oh; 
Love, honour, obey, are the words to be said, 

And ll say em and keep ’em whenever I wed, 

That is, if 1 marry the man that [know, oh; oh; 

if not, poor soul, I shall bother him so, oh; oh. 


My fortune’s my face which I hope I may show, oh; oh! 

sis honest, and that is a treasure I know, oh; oh; 

This poor little hand is all I can give, 

And where [once pledgeit, it ever shall live; 

For the heart’s in the hand I mean to bestow, oh; oh; 
And hands are the gifts which make the heart glow, oh; oh. 


202- THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 


WE’RE A’ NODDIN AT OUR HOUSE AT HAME. 


And we’re a’ noddin, nid, nid, noddin, 

And we’re a’ noddin at our house at hame, 
When the dame’s.awa’ ’tis the time to woo, 
For the lads like lasses and the lasses lads too ; 
Kate sits the neuk, wi’ her laddie sae true, 


And the carl take ye a’ for you’re a’ noddin too ; 
And we’re a’ “diy our house at hame. 
And we're a’ noddin, nid, nid, noddin, 

And we’re a’ noddin at our house at hame, 

And how d’ye, Kimmer and how d’ye thrive, 
And how many bairns a’ ye? Kimmer Thave five. 
And are they a’ at hame? oh, na, na, na! 

‘Fwa’ o’ them are gone wi’ Willie far awa’, 

And we’re a’ noddin, nid, md, noddin, 

And we’re a’ noddin at our house at hame. 





LOVE WAS ONCE A LITTLE BOY. 


Love was once a little boy, heigh-ho, heigh-ho; 
Then with him twas sweet to toy, heigh-ho, heigh-ho; 
He was then so innocent, ~ 
Not as now on mischief bent, 
Free he came, and harmless went, 
Heigh-ho, heigh-ho. 
Love is now alittle man, heigh-ho, heigh-ho; 
And a very saucy one, heigh-ho, heigh-ho; 
He walks so stiff, and looks so smart, 
As if he own’d each maiden’s heart ; 
I wish he felt his own keen dart, 
Heigh-ho, heigh-ho, 
Love will soon be growing old, heigh-ho, heigh-ho ; 
(aif his life’s already told, heigh-ho, heigh-ho; 
When he’s dead, and buried too, 
What shall we poor maidens do, . 
Ym sure I cannot tell, can you? | 
Heigh-ho, heigh-ho. 


“THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 233 


THE SONG OF FIONNUALA. 
Air—* Arrah, my dear Eveleen.”? 


Silent, oh Moyle! be the roar of thy water, 
Break not ye breezes, your chain of repese! 
While murmuring mournfully, Lir’s lonely daughter 
Tells to the night-star her tale of woes. 
When shall the swan, her death-note singing, 
_ Sleep with wings in darkness furl’d ? 
When shall heav’n its sweet bell ringing, 
Call my spirit from this stormy world ? 


Sadly, oh Moyle! to thy winter-wave weeping; 
Fate bids me languish long ages away : 

Yet still in her darkness doth Erin lie sleeping, 
Still doth the pure light its dawning delay. 
When will that day-star, mildly springing, 
Warm our isle with peace and love? 
When will heay’n, its sweet bell ringing, 

all my spirit to the fields above ? 





FLOW ON, THOU SHINING RIVER. 


Flow on, thou shining river, 
But ere thou reach the sea, 
Seek Ella’s bower, and give her 
The wreaths I fling o’er thee; 
And tell her thus, if she’ be mine, 
The current of our lives shall be, 
‘With joys along their course to shine, 
Like those sweet flowers on thee. 


But if, in wand’ring thither, 
Thou find’st she mocks my pray’s, 
Then leave those wreaths to wither 
- Upon the cold bank there; 
And tell her thus, when youth is o’er, 
Her lone and lovely charms shall be 
"Thrown upon life’s weedy shore, 
Like those sweet flowers from thee. 


4 


234, THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 


OFT IN THE STILLY NIGHT. 


Oft in the stilly night 
Ere slumbers chain has bound me, 
Fond memory brings the light 
Of other days around me ; 
The smiles, the tears of boyhood’s years, 
The words of love then spoken, 
The eyes that shone, now dimm’d and gone, 
The cheerful hearts now broken! 
Thus in the stilly night, &c. 


When I remember all 
The friends so link’d together, 
I’ve seen around me fall, 
Like leaves in winter weather, 
I feel like one, who treads alone 
Some banquet hall deserted, 
Whose lights are fled, whose garland’s dead, 
And all but he deserted. 
Thus in the stilly night, &c, 





REASON, FOLLY AND BEAUTY. 


Reason, and Folly, and Beauty, they say, 
Went on a party of pleasure one day ; 
Folly play’d around the maid, 
_ The bells of his cap rung merrily out, 
While Reason took to his sermon-book, 
O which was'the pleasanter no one need doubt. 


Beauty, who likes to be thought very sage, 
Turn’d, for a moment, to Reason’s dull page; 
Till Folly said, ‘look here, sweet maid :” ) 
The sight of his cap brought her bdck to herself, 
While Reason read his leaves of lead, 
With no one to mind him—poor sensible elf. 


Then Reason grew jealous of Folly’s cap, . 
Had he that on, he her heart nish mye by 


THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 235 


‘‘ There it is,” quoth Folly, “ old quiz,” 
(Folly was always good-natured, ’tis said,) 
* Under the sun there’s no such fun 
As Reason with my cap and bells on his head.” 


But Reason the head dress so awkwardly wore, 
That Beauty now lik’d him still less than before, 
While Folly took old Reason’s book, 
And twisted the leaves in a cap of such ¢on, 
That Beauty vow’d (though not aloud,) 
She lik’d him still better in that than his own. 





OH! THINK NOT MY SPIRITS ARE ALWAYS AS 


LIGHT. 
Arr—* John O’ Reilly, the active.” 


Oh! think not my spirits are always as light, 

And as free from a pang, as they seem to you now, 
Nor expect that the heart-beaming smile of to-night, 

Will return with to-morrow to brighten my brow. 
No, life is a waste of wearisome hours, 

Which seldom the rose of enjoyment adorns; 
.And the heart that is soonest awake to the flow’rs, 

Is always the first to be touched by the thorns! 
But send round the bowl, and be happy awhile ; 

May we never meet worse in our pilgrimage here, 
Than the tear that enjoyment can gild with a smile, 

And the smile that compassion can turn to a tear, 


The thread of our life would be dark, heaven knows! 
If it were not with friendship and love intertwin’d; 
And I care not how soon I may sink to repose; 
When these blessings shall cease to be dear to my 


mind; 
. But they who have lov’d, the fondest, the purest, 
Who often have wept o’er the dream they believ’d; 
And the heart that has slumber’d in friendship securest, 
@ is happy, indeed, if twas never deceiv’d, | 4 






ere 


236 THE WESTERN SONGSTER: 


But send round the bow], while a relic of truth 
- Is in man or in woman, this pray’r shall be mine,—- 
That the sunshine of love may illumine our youth, — 
‘And the moonlight of friendship console our decline. 





WHEN LIFE LOOKS LONE AND DREARY. 


When life looks lone and dreary, 
What light can dispel the gloom? 
When time’s swift wing grows weary, 
What charm can refresh his plume ? 
?Tis woman, whose sweetness beameth 
O’er all that we feel or see; 
And if man of heav’n e’er dreameth, _ 
*Tis when he thinks purely of thee, 
Oh, woman ! 


Let conquerors fight for glory,— 
Too dearly the meed they gain; 
Let patriots live in story, 
Too often they die in vain. | 
Give kingdoms to those who choose ’em, 
This world can offertome 
No throne like beauty’s bosom, 
No freedom like serving thee, 
Oh, woman! § 


TO LADIES’ EYES. 


Ain—“ Fague a Ballagh.” 


To ladies’ eyes a round, boy, 

We can’t refuse, we can’t refuse, 
Though bright eyes so abound, boy, 

"Lis hard to choose, ’tis hard to choose. 
For thick as starsithat lighten 

Yon airy bow’rs, yon airy bow’rs, » 
The countless eyes that brighten. 

This earth of ours, this earth of ours; 


. 





—_— a 


THE WESTERN SONCSTER. 939 


But fill the cup—where’er boy, 

Our choice may fall, our choice may fall, 
We’re sure to find Love there, boy; 

So drink them all! so drink them all! 


Some looks there are, so holy, : 

They seem but giv’n, they seem but giv’n 
As splendid beacons, solely, 

To light to heav’n, to light to heav’n., 
While some—oh ne’er believe them— 

With tempting ray, with tempting ray, 
Would lead us (God forgive them!) 

The other way, the other way. 

But fill the cup, &c. 


In some, as in a mirror, < 

Love seems pourtrayed, love seems pourtrayed, 
But shun the flattering error, 

*Tis but his shade, ’tis but his shade. 
Himself has fix’d his dwelling 

In eyes we know, in eyes we know, 
And lips—but this is telling, 

So here they go! so here they go! 

Fill up, fill up, &c. 





4 
® 
~ THE TIME I'VE LOST IN WOOING. 
Air-—“ Peas upon a Trencher.” 


The time I’ve lost in wooing, 
In watching and pursuing 
The light that lies 
In woman’s eyes, 
Has been my heart’s undoing. 
Though wisdom oft has sought me, 
I scorn’d the lore she brought me; 
My only books 
Were woman’s looks, 
And folly’s all they’ve taught me. 


238 THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 


Her smile, when Beauty granted, 
Hung with gaze enchanted, 
Like hin, the sprite, 
Whom maids by night, 
Oft meet in glen that’s haunted. 
Like him, too, Beauty won me, 
But while her eyes were on me, 
If once their ray 
Was turn’d away, 
Oh! winds could not outrun me. 


And are those follies going? 
And is my proud heart growing 
Too cold or wise 
For brilliant eyes 
Again to set it glowing ? 
No—vain, alas! th’? endeavour, 
From bonds so sweet to sever; 
Poor Wisdom’s chance 
Against a glance 
Is now as weak as ever! 





AS DOWN IN THE SUNLESS RETREATS. 


As down in the sunless retreats of the, ocean, 
Sweet flowers are springing no mortal can see, 
So deep in my soul the still prayer of devotion, 
Unheard by the world rises silent to Thee; 
My God! silent to Thee; 
Pure, warm, silent to Thee! 
So deep in my soul the still prayer of devotion, 
Unheard by the world rises silent to Thee ! 


As still, to the star of its worship, tho’ clouded, 
The needle points faithfully o’er the dim sea, 
So dark as I roam, in this wintry world shrouded, 

The hope of my spirit turns trembling to Thee ; 
My God! trembling to Thee; 
True, fond, trembling to Thee ; 
So dark as I roam, in this wintry world shrouded, 
The hope of my spirit turns trembling to Thee ! 


THE WESTERN SONGSTER, 239 


OH! THOU WHO DRY’ST THE MOURNER’S 
TEAR. 


Oh! Thou, who dry’st the mourner’s tear, 
How dark this world would be, 

If, when deceived and wounded here, 
We could not fly to thee. 

The friends, who in our sunshine live, | - 
When winter comes, are flown; 

And he, who has but tears to give, 
Must weep those tears alone. 

But thou wilt heal that broken heart, 
Which like the plants that throw 

Their fragrance from the wounded part, 
Breathes sweetness out of wo. 


When joy no longer soothes or cheers, 
And e’en the hope that threw 

A moment’s sparkle o’er our tears, 
Ts dimm’d and vanquish’d too! 

Oh! who would bear life’s stormy doom, 
Did not thy wing of love 

Come brightly: wafting through the gloom 
Our peace-branch from above! 

Then, sorrow, touch’d by thee, grows bright, 
With more than rapture’s ray ; 

As darkness shows us worlds of light, 
We never saw by day! 





THE TURF SHALL BE MY FRAGRANT SHRINE. 


The turf shall be my fragrant shrine, 
My temple, Lord! that arch of thine ; 
My censer’s breath the mountain airs, * 
And silent thoughts my only prayers. 


My choir shall be the monlight waves, 

‘i When murmuring homeward to their caves, 
Or when the stillness of the sea, 
Even more than music, breathes of thee! 


I'll see, by day, some glade unknown, 
AH light and silence, like thy throne! 


jie 


« 


240 THE WESTERN SONGSTER.- 


And the pale stars shall be, at night, 
The only eyes that watch my rite. 


Thy Heaven, on which ‘tis bliss to look, 
Shall be my pure and shining book, 
Where I shall read, in words of flame, 
The glories of thy wondrous name. 


Pll read thy anger in the rack ; 
That clouds awhile the day-beams track, 
Thy mercy in the azure hue 

Of sunny brightness breaking through! 


There’s nothing bright, above, below, 
From flowers that bloom to stars that glow,, 
But in its light my soul can see, 

Some feature of thy Deity! 


There’s nothing dark, below, above, 
But in its gloom I trace thy love, 
And meekly wait that moment, when 
Thy touch shall turn all bright again! 





SHOULD THOSE FOND HOPES. 


Should those fond hopes e’er forsake thee, 
ich now so sweetly thy heart employ, 
Should the cold world come to wake thee 
From all thy visions of youth and joy; 
Should the gay friends, for whom thou would’st banish 
Him who once thought thy young heart his own, 
All, like spring birds, falsely vanish, 
And leave thy winter unheeded and lone: 


O! ’tis therthe thou hast slighted, 
Would come to cheer thee; when all seem’d o’er, 
Then the truant lost and blighted, 
Would to his bosom be taken once more: 
Like that dear bird we both can remember, 
Who left us while summer shone round ; 
But, when chill’d by bleak December, 
Upon our threshold a welcome still found. 


THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 24) 


THE RAISING, 


Come muster, my lads, your mechanical tools, 
Your saws and your axes, your hammers and rules; 
Bring your mallets and planes, your level and line, 
And plenty of pins of American pine. 
For our roof we will raise, and our song still shall be, 
A government firm, and our citizens free. 


Come, up with the plates, lay them firm on the wall, 
Like ie people at large, they’re the ground-work of 
all; 
Examine them well, and see that they’re sound, 
Let no rotten parts in our building be found; 
For our roof we will raise, and our song still shall be, 
Our government firm and our citizens free. 


Now hand up the girders, lay each in his place, 
_ Between them the joists must divide all the space ; 
Like assembly-men, these should lie level along, 
Like girders, our senate prove loyal and strong : 
For our roof we will raise, and our song still shall be, 
-A government firm, over citizens free. 


The rafters now frame, your king-posts and braces, 
And drive your pins home to keep all in their places; » 
Let wisdom and strength in the fabric combine, 
And your pins be all made of American pine : 
For the roof we will raise, and our song still shall be, 
A government firm, over citizens free. 
Our king-posts are judges—now upright they stand, 
Supporting the braces, the laws of the land; 
The laws of the land which divide right from wrong, 
And strengthen the weak, by weakening the strong : 
For our roof we will raise, and our song still shall be, 
Laws equal and just for a people that’s free. 


Lo!-up with the rafters—each frame is a state! 

- How noble they rise! their span too how great! 

From the north to the south, o’er the whole they ex- 
tend, 

And rest on the walls, while the walls they defend! 


242 THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 


For our roof we will raise, and our song still shall be, 
Combined in strength, yet as citizens free. 


Now enter the purlins, and drive your pins through, 

And see that your joints are drawn home, and all true ; 

The purlins will bind all the rafters together, . 

The strength of the whole shall defy wind and weather ; 
For our roof we will raise, and our song still shall be, 
United as States, but as citizens free. 


Come, raise up the turret, our glory and pride : 
In the centre it stands, o’er the whole to preside ; 
The sons of Columbia shall view with delight 
In pillars and arches, and towering height : 
Our roof is now raised, and our song still shall be, 
A federal Head, o’er a people still free. 


Huzza! my brave boys, our work is complete, 

The world shall admire Columbia’s fair seat : 

Its strength against tempest and time shall be_ proof, 

And thousands shall come to dwell under our Roof. 
While we drain the deep bowl, our toast still shall be, 
Our Government firm, and our citizens free. 





°TIS BUT FANCY’S SKETCH. 


Here mark a poor desolate maid, 
By a parent’s ambition betray’d, 
Behold on her fast fading cheek, 
The tears that her agony speak! 
And here kneels the well belov’d youth . 
Calling heaven to witness his truth ; 
And here stands the murderous wretch. 
But mark me, 
But mark me, 
°Tis but Fancy’s Sketch. 
Ah! ’tis but Fancy’s Sketch. 


Behold in his face are express’d, 
The passions that rage in his breast; 


THE WESTERN SONGSTER, 248 


Here read, while he dares to demand 
From her parents this maiden’s fair hand, 
While deep in his dungeon secur’d 
A still living wife is immur’d ; 
Who curses the murderous wretch ; 
But start not ! 
But start not! 
Tis but Fancy’s Sketch, 
Ah ! ’tis but Fancy’s Sketch. 


SE 


BID ME DISCOURSE. 


Bid me discourse, [ will enchant thine ear, 
Or like a fairy trip upon the green; 

Or like a nymph, with bright and flowing hair, 
Dance on the sands, and yet no footing seen. 





FOLLOW, FOLLOW THRO’ THE SEA. 


Follow, follow thro’ the sea, 

To the mermaid’s melody ; 

Safely, freely shalt thou range, 

Thro’ things dreadful, quaint, and strange, 
And thro’. liquid walls behold, 

Wonders that may not be told. 


Treasures too, for ages lost, 
Gems surpassing human cost; 
Fearless follow, follow me, 
Thro’ the treasures of the sea. 





GO, MY LOVE. 


Go, my love! nor believe that your Claribel’s heart, 
For a moment will ask you to stay ; 

When the stern voice of honour commands us to part ; 
When by duty you’re summon’d away. 


- 


ba | 


244 THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 





Yet that fond anxious feelings my bosom assail, 
The throbs of that bosom declare ; 

Tho’ no fears for your honour or courage prevail, 
Yet fears for your safety are there. 


Go, my love! tho’ my heart may beat quick, 
When [ hear of the dangers and heat of the fight ; 
Yet, believe me, each pulse that now flutters with fear, 
Soon will change to the throb of delight. 





LOUDON’S BONNIE WOODS AND BRAES. 


Loudon’s bonnie woods and braes, 
I maun lea’ them a’ lassie ; 
Wha can thole when Britain’s faes 
Would gie Briton’s law, lassie ? 
Wha would shun the field cf danger ? 
Wha frae fame would live a stranger ? 
Now when freedom bids avenge her, 
Wha would shun her ca’, lassie ? 
Loudon’s bonnie woods and braes 
Hae seen our happy bridai days, 
And gentle hope shall sooth thy waes 
When I am far awa, lassie. 


Hark! the swelling bugle sing'’s, 

Yielding joy to thee, laddie ; 

But the doleful bugle brings, 

Wa’eful thoughts to me, laddie. 
Lanely I may climb the mountain, 
Lanely stray beside the fountain, 

Still the weary moments counting, 
Far frae love, and thee, laddie. 
O’er the gory fields of war, 
When vengeance drives his crimson car, 
Thou’lt maybe fa, frae me afar, 
And nane to close thy e’e, laddie. 


O resume thy wonted smile, 
© suppress thy fears, lassie, 


THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 245 


Glorious honour crowns the toil, 
-That the soldier shares, lassie; 
Heav’n will shield thy faithful lover, 
°Till the vengeful strife is over ;. 
Then we’ll meet na mair to sever, 
Till the day we die, lassie : 
*Midst our bonnie woods and braes 
We'll spend our peaceful happy days, 
As blithe’s yon lightsome lamb that plays 
On Loudon’s flow’ry lea, lassie. 


MR. PO. 


Mister Po was a man of great riches and fame, - 
And I lov’d him I own, but I lik’d not his name; 
When he ask’d me to wed, in a pet I said ‘No, 
I shall ne’er marry you, ’m resolved, Mister Po.’ 


(Spoken.)—How shocking it would be to hear the 
little boys and girls of the village cry 


‘Mister Po, Mistress Po, Gaffer Po, Goody Po— 
Oh! Pll never marry you, I’m resolv’d, Mister Po. 


In a passion he flew, and ¢ruelly said, 

‘From my heart do I wish you may die an old maid,’ 
‘You may wish what you please, still my answer was no, 
I shall ne’er marry you, I’m resolv’d, Mr. Po. 


( Spoken.)—How ridiculous it would be at a ball or at 
a party, to hear the company whisper, that’s 


Mister Po, Mistress Po, Gaffer Po, Goody Po— 
Oh! [’ll never marry you and be cail’d Mistress Po, 


Thus TY said and I thought, about twenty years ago, 
And refused the kind offer of sweet Mister Po, 
But P’m sure ow, I think, I was greatly to blame, 
To refuse a good man on account of his name. 


“4 (Spoken.)—Well, really I don’t think the name so very 


+ 


e 


246 THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 


frightful neither; and indeed I’d give all the world to 
hear the little boys and girls of the village cry 


Mister Po, Mistress Po, neighbour Po, cousin Po— 
Oh! I wish I had wed the gallant Mister Po. 





JEM OF ABERDEEN. 


The tuneful lav’rocks cheer the grove, 
And sweetly smells the simmer green, 
Now o’er the mead I love to rove, 
Wi’ bonny Jem of Aberdeen. 
Whene’er we sit beneath the broom, or wander o’er the 
lea, : 
He’s always wooing, wooing, wooing, always wooing me. 


He’s fresh and fair as flowers in May, 
‘The blithest lad of a’ the green; 
How sweet the time will pass away 
Wi’ bonny Jem of Aberdeen. 
Whene’er we sit, &c. 


Wi’ joy I leave my father’s cot, 
Wi’ ilka spot of glen or green, 
Well pleased to share the humble lot 
Of bonny Jem of Aberdeen, 
For when we sit, &c. 





DONALD THE PRIDE O’ DUNBLANE. 


O, fair rose the morning, the sun in mild splendour 
Bade nature’s rich beauties delighted awake, 
When Donald return’d so true and so tender, 
Wav’d proudly the scarf he had kept for my sake ; — 
O, Jessie, he whisper’d, thy prayers did protect me, 
And faithful as ever behold me again ; . 
Most welcome, I answer’d, I ne’er could. suspectthee, _ 
For art thou not Donald the pride of Dunblane, 
For art thou not Donald, br art thou not Donald, — 
Fon att thou’ not Donald the pride-of Dunblane. _ 
a | 


THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 2947 


If since his departure I’ve often lamented, 

The cause that enticed him from Scotland to roam, 
©, how could a feeling like that be prevented, 
While Donald was absent unblest was my home: 

A gentler, a braver, a kinder, sure never 
ttempted the -heart of a maiden to gain; ° 
, guard him, kind heaven, for Jessie must ever 
Delight in her Donald the pride of Dunblane. 





A FAVOURITE SCOTS SONG. 


When lavirocs sweet and yellow broom 
Perfume the banks of Tweed, | 

Blithe Nancy boasts a sweeter bloom, 
Her charms all charms exceed. 

Gang o’er the merry fields of hay, 
Cry’d love-sick Jocky wi’ a sigh ; 

And wha sae saft, sae young, and gay, 
Cou’d sic a handsome lad deny ° 


In Sandy’s cheek the white and red, 
Like rose and lily join’d ; 

For him each Jassie hung her head, 
For her each laddie pin’d. 

Gang o’er the merry field of hay, 
Wi’ me, my dearest lass, he’d cry; 

And wha sae soft, sae young, and gay, 
Cou’d sic a handsome lad deny.? 


He gang’d o’er fields and broomy land, 
Till mither gan to chide ; 

Then Sandy press’d her lily hand, 
And ask’d her for his bride: 

Then o’er the merry fields of hay, 
Said she, my dearest lad we'll hie ; 

For wha sae saft, sae young, sae gay, 

* Could sic a handsome lad deny. 





GLOOMY WINTER’S NOW AWA’. 
Gloomy winter’s now awa’ 
Saft the westling breezes blaw, 
U 


% 


rs ; 
248 THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 


*Mang the birks of Stanely shaw 
The mavis sings fu’ cheary, O; 
Sweet the crawflow’r’s early bell 
Decks Gleniffer’s dewy dell, 
Blooming like thy bonny sel’,- 
My young, my artless dearie, OQ. 
Come, my lassie, let us stray 
O’er Glenkilloch’s sunny brae, 
Blithely spend the gowden day, 
-?Midst joys that never weary, QO. 


Tow’ring o’er the Newton woods, 
Lav’rocks fan the snaw-white clouds, 
Siller saughs, with downy buds, 

Adorn the banks sae briery, 0; 
Round the. sylvan fairy nooks, ‘ 
Feathery breckans fringe the rocks, — 
*Neath the brae the burnie jouks, 

And ilka thing is cheary, 0; 

Trees may bud, and birds may sing, 
Flow’rs may bloom, and verdure spring, 
Joy to me they canna’ bring, 

Unless wi’ thee, my dearie, O. 





The following beautiful song is from the Novel enti- . 
tied “ Felix Alvarez.” 


TOLL NOT THE BELL OF DEATH FOR ME. 


Toll not the bell of death for me, 
When I am dead: 
Strew not the flowery wreath o’er me, 
. On my cold bed. 
Let friendship’s sacred tear 
On my fresh grave appear, 
Gemming with pearls my bier=- 
‘When I am dead. - 
No dazzling proud array i 
Of pageantry display, . 
My fate to spread : 
- Let not the busy crowd benear, 
When I am dead, 


%, 


| THE WESTERN SONGSTER: R49 


Fanning with unfelt sighs my bier, yg 
Sighs quickly sped. Vi 
Deep let the impression rest’ 
On some fond female breast; 
Then were my memory blest y 
When I am dead. 


Let not the day be writ ; 
Love wiil remember it, : ween 
Untold—unsaid. Ly ww 


THE WORLD HAS MANY WIDES. 


The world has many wiles 
Go taste her pleasures, go— 

Many have gone in rosy smiles 
Who soon returned in wo— 

’ There’s treachery—there’s treachery 

In pleasure’s bow] that sparkles bright, 

As sun-rays in the evening sky, ».. ° 
O’er storm-clouds throw a golden light, 


* Go, go, at fashion’s call— 

Where fortune’s trappings shine— 

And twine the festive coronal, 
The wreath of pleasure twine— 

But when the world deceives, 
And sadness elouds thy brow, 

Come, rest thee, on the heart that grieves 

- To think of parting now. 





The following pretty Duett is extracted from a new 
Opera now in preparation at one of the New York Thea- 
tres.. We understand it to be from the fertile pen of 
George P. Morris, Esq., Editor of the New York Mirror. — 

ae WitiiaM. 
= The day is now dawning, love, 

Fled is the night— 
I go like the morning, love, 

Cheerful and bright. 


¢ 


250 THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 


Then adieu, dearest Ellen ; 
When evening is near, 
_ J'll visit thy dwelling, 
For true love is here. 


Even. 
Oh, come where the fountain, love, 
Tranquilly flows ; 
Beneath the green mountain, love, 
Seek for repose. 
Here the days of our childhood, 
In love’s golden beam, 
‘Mong the moss and the wild wood, 
Passed on like a dream. 


WiLiraM. 
O linger awhile, love. 


ELLEN. 
I must away. 


’ WiLiiaM. 
O grant me thy smile, love, 
"Tis hope’s brilliant ray. 
With evening expect me, 
Een. 
To the moment be true, 
And may angels protect thee— 
Boru. 
Sweet Ellen, adieu. 
Dear William, adieu. 





A SERENADE. 


Love, art thou waking or sleeping ?—. 
Shadows with morning should flee :— 
Love, art thou smiling, or weeping ?—— 
Open thy lattice to me! 
Sun-light each sorrow beguiling, 
Youth should be fearless and free:— __ 
Oh! when all nature is smiling, — 
Wilt thou not smile upon me ? 


THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 251 


Think on our last blissful meeting ,— 

’ Sunshine dissolving in tears; 

Oh! when love’s pulses are beating, 
Moments are precious as years! 

- Think on the hope that, soft wiling, 

Lured me unbidden to thee: 

Oh! when all nature is smiling, 
Wilt thou not smile upon me?, 


Roses, thy temples once wreathing, 
_Now on my bosom lie dead; 

fn their pale beauty still breathing 
Fragrance of hours that have fled ! 

Thus, through my heart sweetly thrilling , 
Memory whispers to me, 

“Oh! when all nature is smiling, 
Ella will smile upon thee !” 





WHERE NATURE IS, IS BEAUTY. 


* Where nature is, is beauty, she hath beauty for her dower, 
{n ocean, forest, tuneful bird, and in the voiceless flower ; 
But all her charms united by sweet woman are alone, 
And all the charms of womankind, dear lady, are thine 
own. 


There’s music in thy lightest step, there’s music in thy 
voice 

And in thine eyes of light a ray that bids the soul re- 
joice ; 

Bafore thy smile, so brightly pure, all grosser thoughts 
must flee, , 

As shadows shun the earliest burst of daylight on the sea. 


There’s beauty on thy marble brow, there’s beauty on thy 
- cheek, 
There’s beauty in thy ringlets curl’d, that love’s own lan- 
guage speak ; ' 
Thy lips of rose voluptuously in parted beauty dwell, 
And thy bosom heaves like summer waves on ocean’s 
calmest swell. . 


u 2 


es lag 
* 


252- THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 


Yet, ‘tis not that angelic form, and seraph’s eye of blue, 

That most endear thee to a heart warm like thine own 
and true ; 

It is that nameless charm of mind which all save thou 
canst see, ; 

That binds in rosy chains of love my vanquish’d soul te 
thee. 


WHY I LOVE THEE. 


I love thee, not for that darkly brilliant eye, 

I love thee, not for thy dark brown flowing hair, 
No, nor yet for thy soft bosom swelling high, 

I love thee, for the feelings dwelling there. 
i love thee, not for that soft enchanting grace, 

I love thee, not for thy kind bewitching smile, 
Nor do 1 love thee for thy mild beaming face, 

But I love thee for a bosom free from guile. 


Nor yet for the soft tint of roseate hue, 
Do I love thee, tho’ I love to see it glow ; 

But I love thee, for those feelings pure and true, 
In the bright tears that fall for others’ wo. 


I’ll love thee, tho’ fade the bloom that’s on my cheek. 
I'll love thee when gone is thy beauty away, 

t have built my love on thy virtues meek, 
And my love with my life shall only decay. 





LORD ULLIN’S DAUGHTER. 


A chieftain to the Highlands bound,. 

_ Cries, “ Boatman, do not tarry! 

And I'll give thee a silver pound, 
To row us o’er the ferry.”—~ 

“ Now who be ye, would cross Lochgyle, 
This dark and stormy water !”— 

* Oh I’m the chief of Ulva’s isle, 
And this Lord Ullin’s daughter.— 


fae) 


THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 253 


“* And fast before her father’s men | 
Three days we’ve fled together, 

For should he find us in the glen, 
My blood would stain the heather. 


*¢ His horsemen hard behind us ride; - 
Should they our steps discover, 

Then who will cheer my bonny bride » 
When they have slain her lover ?” 


Outspoke the hardy Highland wight,’ 
“ll go, my chief—I’m ready:— 
It is not for your silver bright, 
But for your winsome lady ; 


u Ing by my word! the bonny bird 


In danger shall not tarry ; 
So, though the waves are raging white, 
I'll row you o’er the ferry.” 


By this the storm grew loud apace, 
The water wraith was shrieking ;* 

_And in the scowl of heav’n each face 
Grew dark as they were speaking. 


But still as wilder blew the wind, 
And as the night grew drearer, 

Adown the glen rode armed men, 
Their trampling sounded nearer.— 


“ © haste thee, haste!” the lady cries, 
“ Though tempests round us gather 
ll meet the raging of the skies, 
But not an angry father.” 


The boat has left a stormy land, 
A stormy sea before her,— . 
When, oh! too strong for human hand, 
The tempest gather’d o’er her.— 
And still they rowed amidst the roar 
Of waters fast prevailing : 
Lord Ullin reached that fatal shore, 
His wrath was changed to wailing.— 





* The evil spirit of the waters. 


ood THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 


For sore dismayed, through storm and shade. 
His child he did discover : 
One lovely hand she stretch’d for aid, - 

And one was round her lover. 


‘“‘ Come back! come back!” he cried in grief. 
‘¢ Across this stormy. water, 
And Pll forgive your Highland chief, 
_ My daughter !—oh, my daughter !”— 
‘Twas vain: the loud waves lash’d the shore. 
Return or aid preventing :— 
The waters wild went o’er his child— 
And he was left lamenting. 





THE SAILOR’S LAST WHISTLE. 


Whether sailor or not, for a moment avast, 
Poor Jack’s mizen-topsail is laid to the mast ; 
He’ll never turn out, or more heave the lead, 
He’s now all aback, nor will sails shoot ahead ; 
Yet, though worms gnaw his timbers, his vessel a wreck, 
When he hears the last whistle, he’ll jump upon deck! 
Secur’d in his cabin, he’s moor’d in his grave, 
Nor hears any more the loud roar of the wave ; 
Press’d by death, he is sent to the tender below, 
Where seamen and lubbers must every one go. 
Yet, tho’ worms, &c. 
With his frame a mere hulk, and his reck’ning on board, 
At length he dropt down to mortality’s road ; 
With eternity’s ocean before him in view, 
He cheerfully popt out, ‘my messmates, adieu !” 
For, tho’ worms, &c. 


ON A YOUNG LADY WHO DIED A FEW WEEKS 
AFTER HER MARRIAGE. 
Weep not for those, whom the veil of the tomb, 
In life’s happy morning, hath hid from our eyes, 
Ere Sin threw a blight o’er the spirit’s young bloom, 
’ @r Earth had profan’d what was born for the skies. 


THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 255 


_ Death,chill’d the fair fountain, ere sorrow had stain’d it, 
"T was frozen in all the pure light of its course, | 
And but sleeps till the sunshine of Heav’n has un- 
chain’d it, " v. 
To water that Eden, where first was its source! 
Weep not for those, whom the veil of the tomb, 
In life’s happy morning hath hid from our eyes, 
Ere sin threw a blight o’er the spirit’s young bloom, 
Or Earth had profan’d what was born for the skies. 


Mourn not for her, the young Bride of the Vale, ee 

Our gayest and loveliest, lost to us now; ‘ 
Ere life’s early lustre had time to grow pale, 

And the garland of love was yet fresh on her brow. 
Oh! then was her moment, dear Spirit, for flying 

From this gloomy world, while its gloom was unknown, 
And the wild hymns she warbled so sweetly in dying, 

Were echoed in Heaven by lips like her own! 
Weep not for her—in her spring time she flew 

To that land, where the wings of the soul are unfurl’d, 
And now, like a star beyond evening’s cold dew, 

Looks radiantly down on the tears of this world. 





. FAREWELL. 
Arrn—‘ Moll Roone.” - 


Farewell! but whenever you welcome the hour, 
Which awakens the night-song of mirth in your bow’r, 
Then think of the friend who once welcom’d it too, 
And forgot his own griefs to be happy with you. 

His griefs may return, not a hope may remain, _ 

Of the few that have brighten’d his pathway of pain, 
But hé ne’er will forget the short vision that threw 

Its enchantments around him while ling’ring with you. 


_ And still on that evening when pleasure fills up 

To the highest top sparkle each heart and each cup, 
_ Where’er my path lies, be it gloomy or bright, F 
_My soul, happy friends! shall be with you that night ; 


256 THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 


Shall join in your revels, your sports and your wiles, 
And return to me, beaming all o’er with your smiles! 
Too blest, if it tell me, that, mid the gay cheer, 

Some kind voice had-murmur’d—“ I wish he were here!” 


Let fate do her worst; there are relics of joy, — - 
Bright dreams of the past, which she cannot destroy ; 
And which come, in the night-time of sorrow and care, 
To bring back the features that joy us’d to wear. 
Long, long be my heart with such memories fill’d! 
Like the vase, in which roses have once been distill’d-— 
You may break, you may ruin the vase if you will ; 
But the scent of the roses will hang round it still. 

4 5 





FLY ‘TO THE DESERT. 


Fly to the desert, fly with me, 

Our Arab tents are rude for thee ; 

But Oh! the choice what heart can doubt, 
Of tents with love or thrones without ? 


Our rocks are rough, but smiling there 
Th’ aceacia waves her yellow hair, 
Lonely and sweet, nor lov’d the less 
For flowering in a wilderness. 


Our sands are bare, but down their slope 
The silvery-footed antelope 
As gracefully and gaily springs 

As o’er the marble court of kings. 
Then\come—thy Arab maid will be 

The lov’d and lone aceacia tree, 

The antelope, whose feet shall bless 

With their light sound thy loneliness. 


Oh! there are looks and tones that dart 
An instant sunshine through the heart, 
As if the soul that minute caught 

Some treasure it through life had sought ; 


As if the very lips and eyes 
Predestin’d to have all our sighs, 

And never be forgot again, Pieper: 
Sparkled and spoke before us then! 


THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 257 


So came thy every glance and tone, 

When first on me they breathed and shone; 
New as.if brought from other spheres, — 
Yet welcome as if lov’d for years! __ 


Then fly with me—if thou hast known 
No other flame, nor falsely thrown 
A gem away that thou hast sworn, 
Should ever in thy heart be worn. 


. Come, if the love thou hast for me he 
Ts pure and fresh as mine for thee, call 
Fresh as the fountain under ground, | 
When first ’tis by the lapwing found.” > 


But if for me thou dost forsake 

Some other maid, and rudely break " 
Her worshipp’d image from itstbase, 

To give to me the ruin’d place ;— 


Then, fare thee well—I’d rather make 
My bower upon some icy lake, 

When thawing suns begin to shine, 
Than trust to love so false as thine! 


ae 


COME O'ER THE SEA. 
Arr—** Cuishlih ma chrée.” 


Come o’er the sea, 
Maiden! with me, 
Mine through sunshine, storm, and snows! 
Seasons may roll, _ 
But the true soul 
; Burns the same where’er it goes. 
Let fate frown on, so we love and part not; 
Tis life where thou art, ‘tis death where thou art not ; 





ae 





* The hudhud, or lapwing, is supposed to have the 
power of discovering water under ground. 


258 THE WESTERN. SONGSTER- 


Then come o’er the sea, 
Maiden! with me, 

Come wherever the wild wind blows. 
Seasons may roll, 
But the true soul 

Burns the same, where’er it goes. . 


Is not the sea : 
Made for the free, 
Land, for courts and chains alone! 
Here we are slaves; 
But on the waves, 
Love and liberty’s all our own! 
No eye to watch, and no tongue to wound us, 
All earth forgot, and all heaven around us! 
Then come o’er the sea, 
Maiden! with me, 
Come wherever the wild wind blowe ; 
Seasons may roll, 
But the true soul 
Burns the same where’er it goes. 


AS SLOW OUR SHIP. 
Airn—* The Girl I left behind me.” 


As slow our ship her foamy track 
Against the wind was cleaving, 

Her trembling pennant still looked back 
To that dear isle ’twas leaving. | 

So loth we part from all we love, 
From all the links that bind us; 

So turn our hearts where’er we rove, 
To those we’ve left behind us! 


When, round the bowl, of vanish’d years 
We talk with joyous seeming, yer 

And smiles that might as well be tears. 
So faint, so sad their beaming; — 


THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 259 


While mem’ry brings us back again 
Each early tie that twin’d us, 

Oh! sweet’s the cup that circles then 
To those we’ve left behind us! 


And when in other climes we meet, 
Some isle or vale enchanting, 

Where all looks flow’ry wild and sweet, 
And nought but love is wanting ; 

We think how great had been our bliss, 
If Heaven had but assigned us, 

To live and die in scenes like this, 
With some we’ve left behind us! 


As travellers oft look back at eve, 
When eastward darkly going, 

To gaze upon that light they leave 
Still faint behind them glowing— 
So, when the close of pleasure’s day - 
To gloom hath near consigned us, 
We turn to catch one fading ray 
Of joy that’s left behind us. 





WHEN CHARLES WAS DECEIVED. 


When Charles was deceiv’d by the maid he lov’d, 
We saw no cloud his brow o’ercasting, 
But proudly he smiled as if gay and unmov’d, 
Though the wound in his heart was deep and lasting ; 
And often at night when the tempest roll’d, | 
He sung as he paced the dark deck over, 
“ Blow, wind, blow! thou art not so cold 
As the heart of a maid that deceives her lover!” 


Yet he lived with the happy, and seem’d to be gay, 
Tho’ the wound but sunk more deep for concealing ; 
And*fortune threw many a thorn in his way, 
Which, true to one anguish, he trod without feeling ! 
And, still by the frowning of fate unsubdued, 
He sung, as if sorrow placed him above her, 
‘“ Frown, Fate , frown! thou art not so rude 
As the heart of a maid that deceives her lover!” 


x 


260 THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 


At length his career found a close in death, 

The close he long wish’d to his cheerless roving; 
For victory shone on his latest breath, 

And he died in a cause of his heart’s approving ; 
But still he remember’d his sorrow, and still 

He sung, till the vision of his life was over, 
“ Come, death, come! thou art not so chill 

As the heart of the maid that deceiv’d her lover” 





WREATH THE BOWL. 
Arrn—‘ Noran Kista.” 


Wreath the bowl 
With flow’rs of soul, 

The brightest wit can find us: 
We'll take a flight 
Tow’rds heaven to night, 

And leave dull earth behind us! 
Should love, amid, 

The wreaths be hid, 

That Joy, th’ enchanter brings us, 
No danger fear 
While wine is near, 

We'll drown him if he stings us. 
Then wreath the bowl 
With flow’rs of soul, 

The brightest wit can find us; 
We'll take a flight 
Tow’rds heaven to-night, 

And leave dull earth behind us! 


'T was nectar fed 
Of old ’tis said, 

Their Junos, Joves, Apollos ; 
And Man may brew 
His nectar too, 

The rich receipt’s as follows :— as 
Take wine, like this, 
Let looks of bliss 


THE WESTERN SONGSTER:. 2614 


Around it well be blended, 
Then bring wit’s beam 
To warm the stream, ; 
And there’s your nectar splendid ! 
So, wreath the bowl, &c. 
Say, why did Time, 
His glass, sublime, 
Fill up with sands unsightly, 
When wine he knew, 
Runs brisker through, 
And sparkles far more brightly. 
Oh, lend it us, 
And smiling thus, 
The glass in two we'd sever, 
Make pleasure glide 
In double tide, 
And fill both ends for ever! 
Then, wreath the bowl, &c. 





MUTUAL LOVE.—By Huddesford. 


When on thy bosom f recline, 
Enraptur’d still to call thee mine, 
To call thee mine for life ; 
I glory in the sacred ties, 
Which modern wits and fools despise, 
Of husband and of wife. 


One mutual flame inspires our bliss: 
The tender look, the melting kiss 
E’en years have not destroy’d ; 
Some sweet sensation ever new 
Springs up and proves the maxim true, 
That love can ne’er be cloy’d. 


Have I a wish? ’tis all for thee ; 
Hast thou a wish? ’tis all for me : 
So soft our moments move, 
That angels look with ardent gaze, 
Well pleas’d to see our happy days, 
And bid us live—and love. 


262 THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 
ee 


If cares arise (and cares will come,) 
Thy bosom is my softest home, - 

I lull me there to rest ;- 
And is there aught disturbs my fair: 
I bid her sigh out all her care, 

And lose it on my breast. 





LA ROSE D’AMOUR. 


Tell me have you Seen a toy 
Called Love—a little boy? | 
Arm’d with arrows, wanton, blind— 
Cruel now—and then as kind— . 
If he be among ye, say, 
He is Venus’s runaway ! 
He’s near, I’m sure— 
For lo! his lure— 
La Rose d’Amour! 


Wings he hath, which tho’ ye clip, 
He will leap from lip to lip. — 
If by chance his arrows miss, 
He will shoot ye in a kiss: 
If he be among ye, say, 
He is Venus’s runaway ! 
He’s near, ’m sure— 
For lo! his lure— 
La Rose d’Amour ! 





THE OLD BACHELOR. 


What’s an old bachelor like ?) himself—nothing else— 
No! yes! the elf in society’s a twaddle ; 
"Yes, a twaddle, like a stirrupless saddle, 
Ora one-legged stool, or a cap that fits a fool ; 

An old old shoe—an empty pottle, 

A glass without a bottle ; pala 

A fiddle without a bow, 

A herring without a roe, 


THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 263 


A broken. bottom’d phial, 

A clock without a dial, 

A whip without a thong, 

Mustard any thing but strong, 

A door without a rapper, 

A bell without a clapper, 

A lock there is no locking, 

A garter without a stocking, 

And that is very shocking. 
A file with a glib edge—a single peg at cribbage ; 
A ticket that’s a blank—a thing that’s not to thank ; 
A sentinel almost—asleep upon his post ; 
Though oft a fox \encroaching—fond of pullet poaching ; 
O, a man without a woman’s a strange gander on a com- 

mon ; 
Except, sirs, there’s a kind—of old bachelors, you'll find, 
Who, though they marry would’nt—can’t give reasons 
why they should’nt ; 

But to put, I haven’t time, those reasons into rhyme, 
Yet I fancy nine in ten, come within my muse’s’ken.: 
With woman, common, gander, wander, &c. &c. 
And though exceptions known are, 
An old bachelor’s of little use to any but the owner. 





CLUTTERBUCK AND HIGGINBOTTOM.—Dibdin. 


In Chester’s town a man there dwelt, 
Not rich as Croesus, but a buck ; 
The pangs of love he clearly felt, a 
His name was Thomas Clutterbuck. ~ 
The lady he did most approve, 
Most guineas gold had got ’em; 
And Clutterbuck fell deep in love 
With Polly Higginbottom. 
Oh, Thomas Clutterbuck, 
- Oh, Polly Higginbottom. 
I sing the loves, the smiling loves, 
Of Clutterbuck and Higginbottom. 


A little trip he did propose, . 
Upon the Dee they got ’em ; 


x2 


964 THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 


The wind blew high, he blew his nose, 
And sung to Polly Higginbottom : 
The strain was sweet, the stream was deep, 
He thought his notes had caught her ; 
But she, alas! first fell asleep, 
And then fell in the water. 
O, Polly Higginbottom, 
She went to the bottom ; 
I sing the death, the doleful death, 
Of pretty Polly Higginbottom. 


Yet still he strain’d his little throat; 
To love he did invite her ; 
And never miss’d her till his boat 
He thought went rather lighter. 
But when he found that she was lost, 
The summum of his wishes, 
He boldly paid the waterman, 
And jump’d among the fishes. 
O, Polly Higginbottom, 
He comes to the bottom. 
I sing the death, the double deaths, 
Of Clutterbuck and Higginbottom. 


Round Chester stalk the river ghosts 
Of this young man and fair maid ; 
His head looks like a salmon trout, 
_ Her tail is like a mermaid. | 
Learn this, ye constant lovers all, 
Who live on England’s island, 
The way to shun a watery death, 
Is making love on dry land. 
O, Polly Higginbottom, 
Who lies at the bottom, 
‘So sing the ghosts, the water ghosts, 
Of Clutterbuck and Higginbottom. 





FARE THEE WELL.—By Byron. 


Fare thee well, and if for ever, 
Still for ever fare thee well! 

E’en tho’ unforgiving never = 
’Gainst thee shall my heart rebel. 


THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 265 


But ’tis done, thus disunited, 
Torn from ev’ry nearer tie, 

Sear’d in heart, and lone and blighted, 
More than this I scarce can die. 


Think of him whose prayers shall bless thee, 
Of him thy love has bless’d, 
I scarce, scarce can die. 





CRAZY JANE.—M. G. Lewis. 


Why, fair maid, in ev’ry feature, 
Are such signs of fear exprest : 

Can a wand’ring, wretched creature, 
With such terror fill thy breast ? 

Do my frenzied looks alarm thee, 
Trust me, sweet, thy fears are vain: 

Not for kingdoms would I harm thee ; 
Shun not then poor Crazy Jane. 


Dost thou weep to see my anguish f 
Mark me, and avoid my wo ; 
When men flatter, sigh, and languish, 
Think them false—I found them so. 
For [ lov’d—ah! so sincerely, 
None could ever love again ; 
But the youth I lov’d so dearly, 
Stole the wits of Crazy Jane. 


Fondly my young heart receiv’d him, 
Which was doom’d to love but one : 

He sigh’d—he vow’d—and I believ'd him, 
He was false and I undene. 

From that hour has reason never 
Held her empire o’er my brain : 

Henry fled—with him for ever 

- Fled the wits of Crazy Jane.. 


Now forlorn and broken-hearted, 
And with frenzied thought beset, 

On that spot where last we parted, 
On that spot where first we met, 


ve 
266 THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 


Still I sing my love-lorn ditty ;_ 
Still I slowly pace the plain ; 
While each passer-by, in pity, . 
Cries—God help thee, Crazy Jane: 





SWEET KITTY O’ THE CLYDE. 


A boat dane’d on Clyde’s bonny stream, 
When winds were rudely blowing; 

There sat what might the goddess seem 
Of the waves beneath her flowing ; 

But, no! a mortal fair was she, 
Surpassing a’ beside, 

And youths a’ speer’d her choice to be— 
Sweet Kitty 0’ the Clyde. 


I saw the boatman spread a sail, 
And, while his daftness noting, 
The boat was upset by the gale— 
I saw sweet Kitty floating ; 
I plung’d into the silver wave, 
Wi’ Cupid for my guide, 
And thought my heart weel lost to save 
Sweet Kitty o’ the Clyde. 


But Kitty’s aye a high born fair, 
A lowly name I carry, 

Nor can wi’ lordly Thanes compare, 
Who woo the maid to marry ; 

But she na scornfu’ looks on me, 
And joy may yet betide, 

For hope dares flatter mine may be 
Sweet Kitty o’ the Clyde. 





O WHAT A ROW, aa 
Or the Adventures of a Steam Ship. 
Oh! what a row! what a rumpus and a rioting, 
All those endure, you may be sure, that go to sea ; 
A ship is a thing that you never can be quiet in, 
By wind or steam it’s all the same, ’twas so with me. 


THE WESTERN SONGSTER:, 267 


Wife and daughter, on the water said they’d like to sail 
a bit | 

if consented, soon repented, soon began to rail a bit ; 

“Pal et pray! go to-day, the weather’s so inviting, 
auk 

I'm sure ‘twill do such good to you, they’ll feed you like 
a fighting cock.” 

O! what a row, &ce.. 


Ina boat, I got afloat, as clumsy as an elephant, 
So spruce and gay to spend the day, and make a splash ; 
Gad! it’s true, I did it too, for stepping in, I fell off on’t, 
And overboard, upon my word, I went slap dash. 
Wife squalling, daughter bawling, every thing provoking 


me 7 

Called ‘ a hog, a poodle dog,” all the sailors joking me; 

Dripping wet, and ina fret, with many more distressi- 
bles 

A fellow took the long-boat hook, and caught my inex- 
pressibles. . 

Oh! what a row, &e. 


Sucha gig, without a wig, on deck I was exhibited, 

Laugh’d at by the passengers, and quizzed by the crew; 

Raved and swore, that on the shore I rather had been 
gibbetted— ; 

Than thus, half drown’d, by all around, be roasted too ; 

Danger past, and dry at last, indulging curiosity, 

I star’d to see the vessel flee, with such a strange velocity ; 

“Pray,” said I, to one just by, “‘ what power can impel 
us'so 2”” 

‘‘ The smoky devil goes by steam, at least the lubbers 
tell us so.” 


Oh! what a row, &c. 


Not a sail, to catch a gale, yet magically on I went, 

*Gainst wind and tide, and all beside, in wonder quite ; 

Cast my eye up ta the sky, and tall as Trinity’s monu- 
ment, : " 

I saw the kitchen chimney smoke, as black as night. 

People toiling, roasting, boiling, bless us such a rookery, 

They’d soup and fish, and fowl and flesh, and Niblo’s ta- 
vern cookery ; 


f 


268 THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 


Then the noise of men and boys! a din to rival hell's 
hubbub, tae 
I thought the crew were devils all, the master Captain 


Beelzebub. | 
‘Oh! what a row, &c. 


Wife to me says—says she, “‘now’s your time to pick a 
bit, 

The dinner’s serving up below—and we must fly.” 

Says I, “ my dear, Pm very queer, I’m going to be sick » 
a bit, 

‘¢ 1’m seiz’d with an all over-ness, I faint, I die! 

“‘Y cannot eat, I loath my meat, I feel my stomach fail- 
ing me. Be ; : bie: Dit 

** Steward hasten, bring a basin, what the deuce is ailing 


me. . 
“ If its handy, get some brandy” —the malady to quench 
unable, 
Down I lay, for half a day—in pickle quite unmention- 
able. - . 
Oh! whata row, &c. 


As to dinner, I’m a sinner if I touch’d a bit of it ; 

But anchor cast, and home at last, I’m safe once more. 

In the packet, such a racket! crowding to get quit of it, 

Like cattle from a coaster, we were haul’d on shore— 

With “ how d’ye do?” and how are you?—I see you're bet- 
ter physically ; ' 

“ Zounds be still, ’m very ill, you’re always talking 
quizzically ; ae . 

“Some with glee may go to sea, but I shall not be wil- 
ling, sir, 

“ For such a day again to pay, just two pounds fifteen 
shillings, sir,” 

Oh! what arow, &c. 





THE CARRIER PIGEON.—By Percival. 


Come hither, thou beautiful rover, 
Thou wanderer of earth and of air ; 

Who bearest the sighs of the lover, 
And bringest him news of his fajr: 


THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 269 


Bend hither thy light-waving pinion, 
And show me the gloss of thy neck ; 

0! perch on my hand, dearest minion, 
And turn up thy bright eye and peck. 


Here is bread of the whitest and sweetest, 
And there isa sip of red wine ; 
Though thy wing is the lightest and fleetest, 
"Twill be fleeter, when nerv’d by the vine ; 
I have written on rose-scented paper, 
With thy wing-quill, a soft billet-doux, . 
I have melted the wax in love’s taper, 
Tis the colour of true hearts, sky-blue. 


i have fasten’d it under thy pinion, 
With a blue ribbon round thy soft neck; . 
So go from me, beautiful minion, 
While the pure ether shows not a speck. 
Like a cloud in the dim distance fleeting, 
Like an arrow he hurries away ; 
And farther and farther retreating, 
He is lost in the clear blue of day. 





JONATHAN’S VISIT TO A WEDDING. 


Did ever you go to a wedding ? 
_ What a darn’d sight o’ bussing it takes ; 
Then your mouth it is hot as a pudding, 
They put so much spice in their cakes. 
Sich playing and running, I never! 
The gals, all as neat as new pins! 
I'd fairly wear out my old leather, — 
To catch ’em and buss ’em—by jings! 
1 wonder, by goll, what’s the matter ; 
I can’t get a sweetheart—I’ve tried— 
But, I sniggers, I could never flatter, 
But the gals would all tell me I lied— 
So, rot em, I always am cheated, 
By gosh! I will twig’em, I vum! 
If I can’t be more han’somer treated 
T wen’t goa sourtin, by gum! 


270 THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 


Then I guess they will come to their reason, 
If what granny says be all true— : 
If yow'll let em alone with your teazin, 
he gals will com flockin to you. 


—=somaer 


RICHMOND; OR, THE MAP OF VIRGINIA. 
Am— Life let us Cherish.” 
CHORUS. 
Hail, fair Virginia! 
Where perennial beauty blooms, 
And love of Country, 
Man’s breast ulumes. 


GENERAL VIEW. 
Survey the ample realm around, 
By ocean bathed, by mountain crowned, 
Of smiling earth and genial skies, 
What lovely scenes arise ! 


From north Potomac’s circling line, 

To where the Dan and Staunton join, 

What noble rivers winding down, 
Thy vales with plenty crown ! 


From Monticello’s height behold, 
How vast a scope is eastward rolled, 
To Chesapeake’s Atlantic tide 

Of all our bays,, the pride ! 


From Allegheny’s loftier top, 
Sublimely grand, how wild a scope, 
Like ocean billows in a storm, 

Thy verdant mountains form ! 


Hence north and westward, pour thy springs, 
Whose vernal swell such tribute brings, 
Ag scarce Ohio’s bank controls, 

So rich and full it rolls. 


Return we to the east again, er” 
Where countless streams enrich the plain, 
And Agriculture loadsthe martes 


Of Commerce and the Aris. 


THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 271 


RicHMOND. 
Here Richmond reigns unrivall’d queen, 
And crowns the fertile midland scene, 
With all that wealth and taste combine, 
To polish and refine. 
The Capitol’s majestic pile, 
Of thirty years the ceaseless toil, 
At length assumes a splendid mien, , 
And dignifies the scene. 


And soon to grace its noble square, 
The tribes of Fashion will repair ; 
And muses too, to take the air, 
Delight to linger there. 
FINALE. 
Hail, hills of Richmond! 
Where the cheek of beauty blooms, 
And lovely Woman 
Man’s breast-illumes. ~ 





I SAW THEE WEEP. 


I saw thee weep, the briny tear 
Came o’er that eye of blue ; 
And then I thought it did appear, 

A violet dropping dew. 


I saw thee smile, the sapphire’s blaze 
Beside thee ceas’d to shine ; 

It could not match the living rays, 
That fill’d the glance of thine. 


As clouds from yonder sun receive 
A deep and meliow dye, 

Which scarce the shade of coming eve 
Can banish from the sky— 

Those smiles unto the moodiest mind, 
Their own pure joy impart ; 

Their sunshine leaves a glow behind, 
That lightens o’er the heart. 


$ 3 


THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 


HASTE, [DLE TIME.’ 


Haste, idle time, oh! haste away, 
For lovers ne’er can brook delay, 

And bring, oh! bring the sainted hour, 
When pleasure decks her fairy bow’r. 
When mutual faith we fondly plight, 
How blest will be each dear delight ; 
We'll claim the pure perennial joys 
No fears invade, no time destroys. 





FAR, FAR O’ER HILL AND DELL 


Far, far o’er hill and dell, Se so 
On the winds stealing, 
List to the convent bell, 
Mournfully pealing. _ 
Hark! hark! it seems to sayy 
‘“‘ As melt these sounds away, 
‘* So life’s best joys decay, 
“ Whilst new their feeling.” 


Now through the charmed air, — 
Slowly ascending, 
List to the chaunted prayer, 
Solemnly blending. 
Hark! hark! it seems to say, 
“ Turn from such joys away, “ 
“ ‘To those which ne’er decay, 
“ Though life is ending.” 





THE SMILE OF CONTENTMENT AND LOVE. 


By S. Richards, Esq. 


O dear is my cottage unclouded by sorrow, 

And sweet is the bower my Emmeline wove ; 

Ah! nought from the gay or the wealthy I'd borrow, — 
While bless’d with the smile of Contentment and Love. 
The mirth of my children, their playful caresses 
Unceasing delight to a parent must prove ; 

Then talk not of him who more splendour possesses, 


My wealth is the smile of Contentment and Love. 


THE WESTERN SONGSTER, O75 


The morning awakes me to health and to labour, 

The lark points to Heaven as first to be prais’d ; 

‘The ev’ning procures me my friend and my neighbour, 
To join in the tribute by gratitude rais’d. 

And while with such music re-echoes my dwelling, 
While harmony still lingers over the grove, 

0! if there’s a bliss such enjoyment excelling, 

It beams in the smile of Contentment and Love. 





MY OWN NATIVE ISLE. 


There’s an Isle, clasp’d by waves, in an emerald zone, 
That peers forth from ocean so pear]-like and fair, 
As if nature meant it the water-king’s throne : . 
A youth, whom I name not, remembers me there. 
The breeze now in murmurs, a plaint brings from far, 
From my own native isle, and my lover’s guitar. 


Oh! cheer thee, fond mourner, let hope’s whisper soften 
The wild pang of absence and doubts too unkind ; 
The maid thou upbraidest, for thee sighs as often, 
And speeds gentle wishes by every wind. 
Then winds blow ye homeward, waves waft me afar, 
To my own native Isle, and my lover’s guitar. 





THE LAVENDER GIRL. 
Airn— Morgiana in Ireland.” 


As the sun climbs over the hills, 

When the sky-larks sing so cheerily, 
I my little basket fill, 

And trudge along the village merrily. 
Light my bosom, light my heart, 

1 but laugh at Cupid’s dart ; 
I keep my mother, myself, and brother, 

i By trudging along to sell my lavender. 

Ladies try it, come and buy it, 

Never saw ye nicer lavender ; 
Ladies try it, try it, try it, 

Come, come, buy my lavender. 


274 THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 


Ere the gentry quit their beds, 
Foes to health, ’'m wisely keeping it ; 
Oft IT earn my daily bread, 
And sit beneath the hedge partaking it. 
Ne’er repining, ne’er distress’d, 
' Tell me then am not [ bless’d ; 
Tho’ not wealthy, ’'m young and healthy, 
And only care to sell my lavender. 
Ladies; try it, &c. 





THE HUNTER’S HORN. 


Swift from the covert the merry pack fled, 
While bounding there sprang over valley and mead, 
Wide spreading his antlers, erected his head, 
The stag, his enemies scorning. 
O had you seen then, thro’ torrent, thro’ brake, 
Each sportsman right gallant his rival race take, 
"Twould please beauty’s ear to have heard echo wake 
To the hunter’s horn in the morning. 


Clear’d was the forest, the mountain pass’d o’er ; 

Yet freshly their riders the willing steeds bore: 

The river roll’d deep where the stag spurn’d the shore, 
Yet own’d no timorous warning. 

So close was he follow’d, the foam where he sprung, 

Encircled and sparkled the coursers among, 

While the dogs of the chase their rude melody rung 
To the hunter’s horn in the morning. 





HERE WE MEET TOO SOON TO PART. 


Here we meet too soon to part ; 

Here to leave will raise a smart ; 

Here I'll press thee to my heart, 
Where none have place above thee. 


Here I vow to love thee well ; 

Could but words unsea] the spell, 

Had but language strength to tell, 
I'd say how much I love thee ! 


YTHE WESTERN SONGSTER. Q75 


Here the rose that decks thy door ; 
Here the thorn that spreads thy bow’r ; 
Here the willow on the moor’; 

The birds at rest above thee : 


Had they light of life to see, 
Sense of soul like thee and me, 
_ Soon might each a witness be, 
How doatingly I love thee! 





THE LAND O’ THE LEAL. 


I’m wearing awa, Jean, 
Like snaw when its thaw, Jean, 
I’m wearing awa, 

To the land o’ the leal. 


There’s nae sorrow there, Jean, 
There’s nae cauld nor care, Jean; 
The day is ay fair, 

In the land o’ the leal. 


Ye’ve been leal and true, Jean, 
Your task’s ended now, Jean, 
An’ [ll welcome you, 

To the land o’ the leal. 


Our bonny bairn’s there, Jean; 
She was baith gude an’ fair, Jean ; 
An’ we grudg’d her sair, 

To the land o’ the leal. 


Dry that tearfu’ e’e, Jean ; 
My soul langs to be free, Jean ; 
An’ angels wait on me, 

In the land o’ the leal. 


Then farewell, my ain Jean ; 
This warld’s care is vain, Jean; 
We'll meet an’ ay be fain, 
In the land o’ the leal. 
y¥ 2 


276 


THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 


O THIS IS NO MY AIN LASSIE. 


O this is no my ain lassie, 
Fair tho’ the lassie be ; 
O weel ken I my ain lassie, 
Kind love is in her e’e. 
I see a form, I see a face, 
Ye weel may wi' the fairest place, 
It wants to me the witching grace, 
The kind love that’s in her e’e. 


O this is no my ain lassie, 

Fair tho’ the lassie be ; 
O weel ken I my ain lassie, 

Kind love is in her e’e. 
She’s bonny, blooming, straight and tall ; 
And lang has had my heart mm thrall, 
And ay it charms my very soul, 

The kind love that’s in her e’e. - 


O this is no my ain lassie, 
Fair tho’ the lassie be ; . 
O weel ken I my ain lassie, 
Kind love is in her e’e. 
A thief sae cunning is my Jean, 
To steal a blink by a’ unseen ; 
But gleg as light are lovers’ e’en, 
When kind love is in the e’e. 
O this is no my ain lassie, 
Fair tho’ the lassie be ; 
O weel ken I my ain lassie, 
Kind love is in her e’e. 
It may escape the courtly sparks, 
It may escape the learned clerks; 
But weel the watching lover marks 
The kind love that’s in her e’e. 





PAUL PRY. 


I’ve just dropp’d in to make a call, I hope I don’t intrude, 


now, 
‘Tis but Paul Pry, how are youall? pray do not think me 
rude, now ; 


THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 207 


They say that [’ve gone out of town, but that indeed’s 
a story, 
Or how could I appear to make my handsome bow be- 
fore ye. f 
Poor Paul Pry! 
Ev'ry body laughs when they behold Paul Pry. 


Because I take an interest in other people’s business, 
I’m bump’d, and thump’d, and snubb’d, and drubb’d, until 
I feel a dizziness, 
Which makes me vow [ll never do a kind and worthy 
action, 
For whatsoe’er | meddle in—I ne’er give satisfaction. 
Poor Paul Pry! 
Every body fleers and jeers at poor Paul Pry. 


One night as next the wall I walk’d—my way in caution 
groping, 
Ispied a ladder next a window—placed there for eloping ;, 
I knew this was not quite correct, so to the top did 
clamber, 
And as I just dropp’d in I saw a man hide in a chamber. 
Poor Paul Pry! 
What a situation ’twas for poor Paul Pry. 


Who should the Lady’s father be but my friend Colonel 
Hardy, 

{ pointed to his daughter’s room, and bid him not be 
tardy, 

He quickly kick’d me out of doors and called me lying 
fellow, 

But I came back—because I had forgot my umbrella. 

Poor Paul Pry! 
Every body’s mischief falls on poor Paul Pry. 


og umbrella cost me one and ninepence in the city, 

© lose an article so useful would be shame and pity ; 

I often too forget my gloves—affairs my mind distract so, 

While people can’t forbear from laughing when they see 
me act so. 

7 Poor Paul Pry! 

Every body laughs when they behold Paul Pry. 


278 THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 


One lucky act has crown’d my life—I sav’d a man from 
marrying, 

By fishing up some letters that down the stream were 
hurrying ; 

A Housekeeper she tried to hook her gudgeon of a Mas- 
ter 

But I saved the old bachelor from sucha sad disaster. 

Poor Paul Pry! 
Every body laughs when they behold Paul Pry. 


They’ve got me in the picture shops—they have upon my 
honour ; 

I’m next to Venus—which they say is quite a libel on her: 

No matter if my friends still smile—their plaudits ne'er 
denying, 2 

To yield them more amusement—why I'll still continue 


—prying. 
Pry, Pry, Pry; 
Every body laughs when they behold Paul Pry. 


Soatieememnemeenenntt 


THE TRUE YANKEE SAILOR. 


When a boy, Harry Bluff, left his friends and his home, 
And his dear native land, o’er the ocean to roam : 
Like a sapling he sprung, he was fair to the view, 
He was true Yankee oak, boys, the older he grew. 
Tho’ his body was weak, and his hands they were soft, 
When the signal was giv’n, he the first went aloft : 
The veterans all cried, he’ll one day lead the van, 
For tho’ rated a boy, he’d the soul of a man, 

And the heart ofa true Yankee sailor. 


When to manhood promoted and burning for fame, 
Still in peace or in war, Harry Bluff was the same ; 
So true to his love, and in battle so brave, 
The myrtle and laurel entwin’d o’er his grave. 
For his country he fell, when by victory crown’d, 
The flag shot away, fell in tatters around, 
The foe thought he struck, but he sung out, avast! 
And Columbia’s colours he nail’d to the mast, 

And died like a true Yankee sailor. 


THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 279 


THE WASHING DAY. 


The sky with clouds was overcast, 
The rain began to fall, 
My wife she beat the children, 
And rais’d a pretty squall: 
She bade me with a scolding look, 
To get out of the way; 
The de’il a bit of comfort’s there, 
. All on a washing day. 
For its thump, thump, scold, scold, thump, thump away, 
The de’il a bit of comfort’s there, all on a washing day. 


My Kate she is a bonny wife, 
There’s none so free from ei’, 
Except upon a washing day, 
And then she is the de’il: 
The very kittens on the hearth, 
They will not even play— 
Away they jump, with many a thump, 
All on a washing day. 
For it’s thump, thump, &c. 


A friend of mine once asked me, 
How long Kate had been dead— 
Lamenting the good creature, 
And sorry I was wed 
To such a scolding vixen, 
Whilst he had been at sea :— 
The truth it was, he chane’d to come 
Upon a washing day. 
When it was thump, thump, &c. 


I asked him to come and dine— 
Come, come, says I, odds bud’s, 

[ll no denial take! you shall, 
Though Kate is in the suds : 

- But what he had to dine upon, 

In faith I shall not say, 

But [ll wager he’ll not come again, 
Upon a washing day. 

For it’s thump, thump, &c. 


280 


THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 


On the sad morning when I rise, 
1 make a fervent prayer, 
Up to the gods that it may be, 
Throughout the day quite fair : 
That not a gown or handkerchief, 
May in the ditch be laid— 
Oh ! should it happen so, e’gad, 
I'd catch a broken head. 
For it’s thump, thump, &c. 





‘TIS SWEET UPON THE CLOSE OF DAY. 


"Tis sweet upon the close of day, 
Our village labours over, 

O’er field and meadow green to stray, 
In converse with a lover. 

‘Tis then that nature, calmly bright, 
Cool’d by the fragrant zephyr’s sighs, 

Seems two-fold lovely in that light 
Which lingers as the last beam dies. 


"Tis sweet upon the close of eve, 
Our village pastime ended, 
A lover’s fond vows to receive, 
As homeward we have wended. 
No witness but the moon so fair, 
Whose mild beam lit the riply lake ; 
But ah! what witness should be there 
To hear the vows our lovers make. 





FHE PIRATE LOVER—By J. G. Percival. 


Thou art gone from thy lover, 
Thou lord of the sea! 
The illusion is over , 
That bound me to thee ; 
IT cannot regret thee, 
Though dearest thou wert, 
Nor can I forget thee, 
Thou lord of my heart. 


THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 281 


I lov’d thee too deeply, 
To hate thee and live: 
fam blind to the brightest 
My country can give; | 
But I cannot behold thee 
In plunder and gore, ‘ 
And thy Minna can fold thee 
In fondness no more. 


Far over the billow 
Thy black vessel rides; 
The wave is thy pillow, 
Thy pathway the tides ; 
Thy cannons are pointed, 
Thy red flag on high, 
Thy crew are undaunted, 
But yet thou must die. 


I thought thou wert brave, 
As the sea kings of old; 

But thy heart is a slave 
And a victim to gold : 

My faith can be plighted 
To none but the free ; 
Thy low heart has blighted 
My fond hopes in thee. 


I will not upbraid thee ; 
I leave thee to bear 

The shame thou hast made thee, 
Its danger and care: 

As thy banner is streaming 
Far over the sea, 

O+ my fond heart is dreaming 
And breaking for thee. 


My heart thou hast broken, 
Thou lord of the wave! 
Thou hast left me a token 
To rest in my grave : 
Though false, mean, and cruel, 
Thou still must be dear, 
And thy name, like a jewel, 
Be treasur’d up here. 


282 THE WESTERN SONGSTER,. 


WHEN THE WEARY SUN DECLINETH. 
By J. R. Planche, Esq. 


When the weary sun declineth, 
And upon the silent sea, 
Ev’ning’s star so sweetly shineth, 
Then my love, I think on thee ; 
Think that thus when set in sadness, 
Youth’s bright day dreams seem’d to be, 
Thou, my star of hope and gladness, 
Rose and fondly smil’d on me. 


And as the billow beareth, 
In its bosom deep and clear, 

‘The form that bright star weareth ; 
Even so, mine only dear, 

O’er my heart thine image reigneth, 
And within its faithful shrine, 

Ev’ry look of love remaineth, - 
Which those sweet eyes beam on mine. 





MY HEART IS SAIR FOR SOMEBODY. 


My heart is sair, I dare na tell, 
My heart is sair for somebody ; 
J could wake a winter night, 
For the sake 0’ somebody. 
Oh, hon! for somebody, 
Oh, hey! for somebody, 
I wad range the world around 
For the sake o’ somebody. 


Ye powers that smile on virtuous love, 
O sweetly smile on somebody ; 
Frae ilka danger keep him free, 
And send me safe my somebody. 
Oh hon! for somebody ! 
Oh hey! for somebody ! 
I wad gae—where wad I not? ‘ 
For the sake o’ somebody. 


THE WESTERN SONGSTER., 283 


FIRST I MARRIED FOR LOVE.—By Col. Hamilton. 


First I married for love—for love ? no, for riches ; 
"Tis wealth, not woman, that bewitches: 
She was ugly and old, 
A termagant and scold ; 
And when I would bid her be civil, 
She would turn up her nose 
While she turn’d in her toes, 
And then she would squint like the devil. 
She would turn up her nose 
As she turn’d in her toes, 
And then she| would squint like the devil, 
The devil, &c. 


Next I married a maid—her name? it was Nancy ; 
Her wealth, not beauty, hit my fancy ; 
She’d a hump on her back, 
Such a budget of clack : 
And when I would bid her speak easy, 
With a horrid grimace, 
Of her carbuncled face, 
Would call me a noodle run crazy. 


Then a widow I wed—for sense? no, for ducats ; 
No sense without lining in the pockets— 
She long wanted an eye, 
Her nose turned awry ; 
And when I would bid her look tender, 
Her mouth thick beset 
With teeth black as jet, * 
Would grin like the bars of a fender. 





ODE—For the Fourth of July, 1827.* 


‘Fo the sages who spoke—to the heroes who bled— 


To the day, and the deed—strike the harpstrings of 
glory ! 





* Sung at the celebration in the Exchange Coffee 


ffouse in Boston, 


Zz 


284 THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 


Let the song of the ransomed remember the dead, 
And the tongue of the eloquent hallow the story. 
O’er the bones of the bold, 
Be that story long told, 
And on Fame’s golden tablets their triumphs enroll’d, 
Who on freedom’s green hills freedom’s banner unfurl’d, 
And the beacon fire rais’d that gave light to the world. 


‘Twas for us and our children, to conquer or die, 
Undaunted they stood, where the war-storm burst 
o’er them; 
Each blade drew a thunderbolt down from the sky, 
Till the foeman turn’d pale, and was wither’d before 
them. a 
Then from Liberty’s band, 
Went a shout through the land, 
As the rainbow of peace their fair heritage spann’d ; 
Where the banner of freedom in pride was unfurl’d, 
And the beacon fire rose that gave light to the world. 


They o gone-—mighty men! and they sleep in their 

ame; 

Shall we ever forget them? Oh, never! no, never!—. 
Let our sons learn from us to embalm each great name, 
And the anthem send down—* Independence forever!” 

Wake, wake, heart and tongue! 
Keep the theme ever young— 
Let their deeds thro’ the long line of ages be sung, 

When on freedom’s green hills freedom’s banner ar 

And the beacon fire rais’d that gave light to the world. 


(Sees 


THE PLAIN GOLD RING.—By W. T. Moncrieff, Esq. 


He was a chief of low degree, 

A lady high and fair was she; 

She dropp’d a ring, he rais’d the gem, 
’T was rich as eastern diadem! — 


THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 285 


Nay, as your mistress’ trophy take 
The toy when next a lance you break. 
He to the Tourney rode away, 

And bore off glory’s wreath that day. 


How did his ardent bosom beat, 

When, hast’ning to that lady’s feet, 

The ring and wreath he proudly laid— 
** Oh! keep the ring,” she softly said: 
«Nay, ring so rich I may not wear, 
Howe’er return a gift so rare.” 

Dear youth, a plain gold ring, she sigh’d, 
From you were worth the world beside. 


“” 





THE LAST BUGLE.—By A. Cummings, Esq. 


Hark! the muffled drum sounds the last march of the 
brave, 

The soldier retreats to his quarters, the grave, 

Under death, whom he owns his commander in chief, 

No more he’ll turn out with the ready relief; 

But in spite of death’s terrors or hostile alarms, 

When he hears the last bugle he’ll stand to his arms, 


. Farewell, brother soldiers, in peace may you rest, 
And light lie the turf on each veteran breast, 

Until that review, when the souls of the brave, 

Shall behold the chief ensign, fair mercy’s flag wave ; 
Then freed from death’s terrors and hostile alarms, 
When we hear the last bugle we’ll stand to our arms, 


WILT THOU SAY FAREWELL, LOVE. 
By Thomas Moore, Esq. 
Wilt thou say farewell, love, 
And from Rosa part ? 
Rosa’s tears wiil tell, love, 
The anguish of her heart. 


286 THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 


T’ll still be thine, and thou’lt be mine, 
V’li love thee, tho’ we sever ; 

Oh! say, can Le’er cease to sigh, 
Or cease to love-—no, never! 


Wilt thou think of me, love, 
When thou art far away ? 
Oh! Pl think of thee, love ; 
Never, never stray. 
Pll still be thine, &c. 


‘et not others wile, love, 
Thy ardent beart betray ; 
Remember Rosa’s smile, love, 

When Rosa’s far away. 
V’ll still be thine, &c. 





FANNY DEAREST.—By Moore. 


Oh! had I leisure to sigh and mourn, 
Fanny, dearest, for thee ld sigh, 

And every smile on my cheek should turn 
To tears when thou art nigh; 

But, between love, and wine, and sleep, 
So busy a life I live, 

That even the time it would take to weep, 
Is more than my heart can give. 

Then bid me not to despair and pine, | 
Fanny, dearest of all the dears; 

‘Fhe love that’s order’d to bathe in wine, 
Would be sure to take cold in tears. 


Refiécted bright in this heatt of mine, 
Fanny, dearest, thine image lies ; 

But, ah! the mirror would cease to shine, 
if dimmed too often with sighs. 

They lose one half of beauty’s light, 
Who view it through sorrow’s tear; 

And ’tis only to see thee truly bright, 
That I keep my eye beam clear. 


THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 287 


Then wait no longer till tears shall flow, 
Fanny, dearest, the hope is vain; 

If sunshine will not dissolve thy snow, 
Ishall never attempt it with rain. 





THE YOUNG TROUBADOUR. 


To the mountain’s wild echo £ warble my lays, 

And harmless I wander thro’ woods and thro’ braes ; 
The peasant, by moonlight, oft strays o’er the moor, 
To welcome the song of the young Troubadour. 


O! come to the lattice, and list to my lay; 

Wave, wave thy fair hand and bid me stay; 

O! grant but this boon, I ask for no more, 

°T will enliven the song of the young Troubadour. 
Then ll sing the old ditties of heroes that died, 
And of maidens like you, for whom lovers have sigh’d; 
O! hearken then, lady, to-morrow I’m sure 

You’ll welcome the song of the young Troubadour. 





BUY A BROOM. 


Pretty Lady, pretty Gentleman, 
From mine Vater land I do bring, 
De little broom so new, so bran, 
And buy a broom I sing; 
Buy a broom, buy a broom, 
Pretty broom I sing. 


Pretty little broom is of much use 
When your lover go astray ; 
Should de fond one ever you abuse, 
You den whip him away 
is Wid de broom, 
Pretty broom, 
Wid de broom 
Whip him away, away, away, 
Wid de broom whip him away. 
Z2 


288 THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 


I once had a sworn true lover, 
But he soon prov’d false to me, 
So I cross’d dat big sea over, 
Hoping truer friends to see. 
Buy my broom, 
Buy a broom, 
Pretty broom I cry; 
Pretty lady, pretty gentleman, 
Buy a broom, pretty broom, 
Buy a broom, pretty broom, 
Buy a broom, buy, buy a broom. 





LOVE AND TIME. 


*Tis said, but whether true or not, 

Let bards declare who’ve seen ’em, 
That love and time have only got 

One pair of wings between ’em, 
That love and time have only got 

One pair of wings between ’em. 
In courtship’s first delicious hour, 

The boy full well can spare ’em, 
So loit’ring in his lady’s bow’r, 

He lets the grey-beard wear ’em. 
Then is time’s hour of play, 

Oh how he flies away! 


But short the moments, short ag bright, 
When he the wings can borrow; 

If time to-day has had his flight, 
Love takes his turn to-morrow; 

If time to-day has had his flight, 
Love takes his turn to-morrow. 

Ah time and love! your change is then 
The saddest and most trying, 

When one begins to limp again, 
And t’other takes to flying. 

Then is love’s hour to stray, 
Oh how he flies away ! 


THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 289 


But there’s a nymph whose chains I feel, 
And bless the silken fetter, 

Who knows, the dear one! how to deal 
With love and time much better, 

Who knows, the dear one! how to deal 
With love and time much better, 

So well she checks their wand’rings, 
So peacefully she pairs ’em, 

That love, with her, ne’er thinks of wings, 
And time forever wears ’em. 

This is time’s holiday, 
Oh how he flies away! 





LOVE THEE; DEAREST. 


Love thee, dearest, love thee ! 
. Yes—by yonder star I swear, 
Which through tears above thee, 
Shines so sadly fair. 
Tho’ too oft dim, 
With tears like him, 
Like him my truth will shine; - 
And love thee, dearest, love thee! 
* Yes—’till death I’m thine. 


Leave thee, dearest, leave thee! 
No—that star is not more true; 
When my vows deceive thee, 
He will wander too. 
A cloud of night 
May veil his light, 
And death shall darken mine, 
But leave thee, dearest, leave thee ! 
No—’till death I’m thine. 





TO DAY, DEAREST, IS OURS. 


To day, dearest, is ours, 

Why should love carelessly lose it ? 
This life shines or low’rs, 

Just as we, weak mortals, use it ; 


” 


290 


THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 


Tis time enough, when its flow’rs decay, 
To think of the thorns of sorrow; 

And joy, if left on the stem to-day, 
May wither before to-morrow. 


Then why, dearest! so long 
Let the. sweet moments fly over? 
Tho’ now, blooming and young, 
Thou hast me devoutly thy lover. 
Yet time from both in his silent lapse 
Some treasure may steal or borrow ; 
Thy charms may be less in bloom perhaps, 
Or I less in love to-morrow. 





HAS SORROW THY YOUNG DAYS SHADED. 


Has sorrow thy young days shaded, 
As clouds o’er the morning fleet? 
Too fast have those young days faded, 
That even in sorrow were sweet. 
Does time with his cold wing wither 

Each feeling that once was dear ? 
Come, child of misfortune! hither, 
Pll weep with thee tear for tear. 


Has love to that soul so tender, 
Been like our Lagenian mine, 

Where sparkles of golden splendour 
All over the surface shine ? 

But if in pursuit we go deeper, 
Allur’d by the gleam that shone, 
Ah! false as the dream of the sleeper, 
Like love, the bright ore is gone. 


Has hope, like the bird in the story 
That flitted from tree to tree 
With the talisman’s glittering glory— 
Has hope been that bird to thee ? 
On branch after branch alighting, 
The gem did she still display, 
And, when nearest and most inviting, 
Then waft the fair gem away— 


THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 291: 


If thus the sweet hours have fleeted, 
When sorrow herself look’d bright; 
If thus the fond hope has cheated, 
That led thee along so light; 
If thus the unkind world wither 
Fach feeling that once was dear; 
Come, child of misfortune! come hither, 
Pll weep with thee tear for tear. 


JULIO TOLD ME WHEN WE PARTED. 


Julio told me when we parted, 
Nought but death should cause his stay ; 
To mine eye a tear had started, 
Julio kiss’d the drop away. 
Autumn winds now chill my dwelling, 
*T was in spring I lost my dear; 
Grief afresh mine eye is swelling, 
But no kiss imbibes the tear. 


With the flow’rs that Julio planted, 
Oft I dress his vacant chair; 
Stand before it, gaze enchanted, 
Gaze and think my rover there! 
Oft the kiss he gave at parting, 
Midnight sleep returns to cheer; 
But too soon my senses starting, 
Lose the kiss to find the tear. 





SAY, MY HEART, WHY WILDLY BEATING? 


Say, my heart, why wildly beating, 
Dost thou such emotion prove? 
“ Canst thou, when thy lover meeting, 
Fear his truth or doubt his love ? 
No, gently no, my bosom sighs; 
No, gently no, my heart replies: 


292 THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 


Then, fond heart, be silent, ever 
Be thy wild emotion o’er, 
For with doubt and fearing 
Never shait thou throb, 
No, no, no, never more, 
No, no, no, never more. 


Light of life, and life’s best blessing, 
Is the love that meets return; 
Shall I that rich boon possessing, 
E’er the matchless blessing spurn? 
No, fondly no, my bosom sighs ; 
No, gently no, my heart replies: 
Then be joy my inmate ever, 
Since each anxious dread is o’er; 
For with fear and doubting 
Never shall it throb, 
No, no, no, never more, 
No, no, no, never more. 





AND YE SHALL WALK IN SILK ATTIRE. 


And ye shall walk in silk attire, 
And siller have to spare, 

Gin ye’ll consent to be his bride, 
Nor think on Donald mair, 

Oh! who would buy a silken gown 
With a poor broken heart? 

And what’s to me a siller crown, 
If from my love I part? 


i would na walk in silk attire, 
Nor braid wi’ gems my hair, 
Gin he whose faith is pledg’d wi’ mine, 
Were wrang’d and grieving sair. 
From infancy he lov’d me still, 
And still my tieart shall prove, 
How weel it can those vows fulfil, 
Which first repaid his love. 


o> 


THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 293 


FORGET ME NOT. 


Forget me not, should mirth allow thee leisure 

To think on me while cares my breast destroy ; 

Forget me not, should sorrow damp thy pleasure, 

And rouse thy troubled soul from golden dreams of joy : 
“And should the love of change prefer unmeaning folly 
To faith that ne’er deceiv’d and pieasing melancholy ; 
My eyes shall speak in tears that trickle for thy lot, 
Forget me not! Forget me not! 


Forget me not, tho’ heedless of my anguish, 

Fortune should tear thee from my arms, 

While months and\years .condemn’d in vain to languish, 

My tongue repeats thy name, my mind recalls thy 
charms. 

Ah consecrate to me some fleeting hour, 

For time and distance yield to friendship’s magic pow’r ; 

My heart will cry to thine, whate’er may be my lot, 

Forget me not! Forget me not! 


‘Forget me not, tho’ the dull earth should cover 
‘Fhis heart which beat so faithfully for thee ; 

The spotless soul around thee then shall hover, 
Tho’ weak and erring now, yet then from error free. 
Think then ’tis I whene’er a ray of hope revealing, 
A spirit to thy soul inspires a tender feeling ; 

*Tis | who whisper then, still anxious for thy lot, 
Forget me not! Forget me not! 





REST! WARRIOR, REST !—By M. Kelly. 


He comes from the wars, from the red field of fight; 

He comes thro’ the storm and the darkness of night ; 

For rest and for refuge now fain to implore, 

The warrior bends low at the cottager’s door. 

-Pale,_pale is his cheek, there’s a gash on his brow, 

His locks o’er his shoulders distractedly flow, 

And the fire of his heart shoots by fits from his eye, 

Like a languishing lamp that just flashes to die. 
Rest! warrior, rest! 


294, THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 


Sunk in silence and sleep in the cottager’s bed, 
Oblivion shall visit the war-weary head ; 
Perchance he may dream, but the vision shall tell 
Of his lady-love’s bower, and her latest farewell. 
Oft his thoughts on the pinions of fancy shall roam, 
And in slumber revisit his love and his home, 
Where the eyes of affection with tenderness gleam : 
Ah! who would awake from so blissful a dream? 
Rest! warrior, rest! 


THERE’S A TEAR THAT FLOWS WHEN WE 
PART. 
By R. Willis. 
There’s a tear that flows when we part, 
From a friend whose loss we moan; 
There’s a tear that flows from the half-broken heart, 
When we think he may never return. 
Ah! never. 
*Tis hard to be parted from those 
With whom we forever could dwell; 
But bitter indeed is the sorrow that flows, 
When perhaps we are saying farewell, 
Forever. 
There’s a tear that brightens the eye 
Of the friend when absence is o’er; 
There’s a tear that flows not from sorrow but joy, 
When we think to be parted no more. 
_ Oh! never. 
When all that in absence we dread 
Is past, and forgotten’s our pain ; 
But sweet is the tear we at such moments shed, 
When we see the sweet object again, 
Forever. 


MY DARK-EYED MAID.—By Henry R. Bishop. 


My dark-ey’d maid! within thy bower, 
Alone thou’lt sit by moonlight hour ; 


THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 295 


Thy hand of snow will strew the ground 
With balmy leaves and blossoms round ; 
And oft two lips of flame will sigh, 

“ Forgetful lover! art thou nigh ?” 
Alas! for hopes, by fate betray’d, 

No lover seeks his dark-ey’d maid ! 

My dark-ey’d maid! then wilt thou weep, 
And sigh and sob thy heart to sleep ! 

If fancy tempt thee with a dream, 

She but renews thy waking theme; 
And thou wilt murmur words of bliss, 
And pout thy lips to print a kiss : 

Alas! for dreams, by fate betray’d, 

No lover seeks his dark-ey’d maid. 





O! YOUNG MAIDEN HEARTS BEWARE. 
By J. A. Wade. 


Oh! young maiden hearts beware, 
Of love’s little arts beware ; 

Tho’ I caution, you suspect; 

Tho’ I counsel, you reject ; 

But soon, and to your cost, 

Your hearts they will be lost, 
And you’ll think of my caution, 
Beware, oh! beware. 


Oh! young maiden hearts prepare, 

For your pains and your smarts prepare ; 
Tho’ [reason, you may laugh; 

Though I threaten, you may scoff; 

Still, still I tell youtrue, 

What weeping yet you’ll do—Why ? 
Think of my caution, beware ! 

You’ll think of my caution, beware! 





THE PILGRIM OF LOVE.—By Henry R. Bishop, 
A Hermit who dwells in these solitudes cross’d me, 
As wayworn and faint up the mountain I press’d ; 

2A 


296 THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 


The aged man paus’d on his staff to accost me, 
And profter’d his cell as my mansion of rest : 
Ah! nay, courteous father, right onward I rove ; 
No rest but the grave for the pilgrim of love! 
‘Yet tarry, my son, ’till the burning noon passes, 
Let boughs of the lemon tree shelter thy head; 
The juice of ripe Muscatel flows in my glasses, 
And rushes, fresh pull’d, for thy siesta are spread.” 
_Ah! nay, courteous father, right onward I rove; 
\ No rest but the grave for the pilgrim of Love. 





POLLY HOPKINS AND TOMMY TOMPKINS. 


Tommy. Pretty, pretty Polly Hopkins, how d’ye do? 
Polly, None the better, Tommy Tompkins, for seeing 


you. 

T. I’m a man of wealth. 
¢ Be quiet, pray. 

A i Take all my pelf. 

P. Pray get away. ; 


7’, Oh! cruel, cruel Polly Hopkins, to treat me so. 

P. Oh! cruel, cruel Tommy Tompkins, to teaze meso. 
T'. When we are married, PollyHopkins,which we willbe. 
P.1\ hope the next day, Tommy Tompkins, to bury thee. 


fi I'll handsome grow. 

es That I deny. 

7. Though ugly now. 

is Worse by and by. 

T. Oh! cruel, cruel Polly Hopkins, to treat me so. 

P. Oh! cruel, cruel Tommy Tompkins, to teaze me so. 
x When I am dead, Polly Hopkins, remember me. 


With all my heart, Tommy Tompkins, s0 let it be. 
Then you'll fret and cry. 
Ah! to be sure, 
To think that I, 
Died not before. 
Oh! cruel, cruel Polly Hopkins, to treat me so. 
Oh! cruel, cruel Tommy Tompkins, to teaze me so 


HAS 


THE WESTERN SONGSTER,. 297 


LEAVE THY LONE PILLOW, 
_ By J. R, Planche, Esq, 
Leave thy lone pillow,-— 
Cork tree and willow, 
Mountain and billow, 
In the moon’s light, 
Softly are gleaming, 
Dancing and beaming ; 
Waste not in dreaming 
Moments so bright: 
Sweet in the grove the cicada is singing, love, 
Weaving her choice of lays for thine ear; 
Come let thy greeting, love, 
Still this heart’s beating, love, 
Peace to it bringing, love; 
Wake thee, my dear! 


Haste ere the winking 
Stars shall be sinking, 
And the buds drinking 
The dews of the morn; 
Think not a splendour, 
So bright, yet so tender, 
Day e’er can render, 
These scenes to adorn: » 
Come whilst each charm that from nature is springing, 
love, 
Looks in the moonlight more beauteous and clear; 
Haste, let our meeting, love, 
Still this heart’s beating, love, 
Peace to it bringing, love; 
Haste thee, my dear! 





- MARCH TO THE BATTLE FIELD. 


March to the battle field, 
The foe is now before us; 
Each heart is freedom’s shield, 
And Heay’n is smiling o’er us, 


298 THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 


The woes and pains, 
The galling chains, 
That keep our spirits under ; 
In proud disdain, 
We’ve broke again, 
And tore each link asunder. 
March to the, &c. 


Who, for his country brave, 
Would fly from her invader? 
Who, his base life to save, 
Would, traitor-like, degrade her? 
Our hallowed cause, 
Our home and laws, 
*Gainst tyrant power sustaining, 
We’ll gain a crown 
Of bright renown, 
Or die—our rights maintaining ! 
March to the, &c. 





SHOULD HE UPBRAID. 


Should he upbraid, I’ll own that he prevail, 
And ging as sweetly as the nightingale ; 
Say that he frown, I’il say his looks I view, 
As morning roses newly tipt with dew. 

As morning roses, &c. 


Say he be mute, P’ll answer with a smile, 
And dance and play, and wrinkled care beguile. 
Should he upbraid, &c. 





COME DOWN TO THE LATTICE. 


Come down to the lattice, 
Come down, love, and list, 
‘When the eve lights her stars — 

In the purple of mist. 


THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 299 


My heart like a traveller, 
Long journeying afar, 

Looks up to thy zenith, 
Hope’s beautiful star. 


I have vows for thy bosom 
To sigh unto truth, 
I have perilous tales * 
Of the bridal of youth. 
O come to the lattice, love, 
Come thee, and list, 
When the stars are so bright 
In the beautiful mist. 





HAPPY TAWNY MOOR. 


ZADI. 
Oh! happy tawny moor, when you, love, 
Climb the mountain with your true love, 
Will you by the way 
The music play ? 
Your sweet guitar a tinkling, Zadi, 
Listen to his Spanish Lady. 
Tang, tanki, tanki, tanki, tanki, tanki, tay. 


AGNES. 
Oh! bonny tawny moor, together 
As we brave the wind and weather, 
Won’t you by the way 
From Agnes stray? 
While their guitars are tinkling, Zadi, 
Love no other Spanish Lady. 
Tang, tanki, &c. 


Z, Cease, pretty Agnes, cease, no beauty 
E’er could draw me from my duty ; 
Let them all the day 
Their music play. 
A, Then my guitar a tinkling, Zadi, 
Follow now your Spanish Lady. 
Tang, tanki, &c. 
ZA2 


- 


300 THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 


| PRIMROSES. 


Come, who’ll buy my roses, primroses who'll buy ; 
They are sweet to the sense, they are fair to the eye ; 
They are cover’d all o’er with the diamond dew 
Which Aurora’s bright handmaids unsparingly threw 
On their beautiful heads, and I ask but of you 

To buy, buy, buy. 


The sun kiss’d the flow’rs as he rose from the sea— 
bright, 

ot their golden eyes open’d with beauty and glee to 
ight ; 

Their sweets are untasted by Hornet or Bee, 

They are fresh as the morning and lovely to see ; 

So reject not the blossoms now offer’d by me, 

But buy, buy, buy. 


Nay never refuse me, nor cry my buds down, . 

They are nature’s productions, and sweet ones you'll 
own 

And tho? torn from the earth, they will smile in your 
hall, 

They will bloom in a cottage be it ever so small, 

And still look the loveliest flow’rs of them all. 

So buy, buy, buy. 





YOUR HEART AND LUTE ARE ALL THE STORE. | 


Your heart and lute are all the store 
You say you have for me; 
Then bring them, love, I ask no more, 
Than those dear gems from thee. 
A lute whose plaintive chords recall 
The bliss of happier days ; 
A heart so form’d to feel for all, 
And chase all gloomy rays. 
Your heart and lute are all the store 
You say you have for me ; 
Then bring them, love, I ask no more 
Than those dear gems from thee. 





4 


THE WESTERN SONGSTER, - 301 


With such a lute how could you fail 
To cheer each wand’ rer’s way, 
When pouring forth some lover’s tale, 
Or minstrel’s warlike lay ; 
A thought of care can never rise 
To break a spell like this; 
Where pleasure only now survives 
In such enchanting bliss. 
Your heart and lute are all the store 
You say you have for me; 
Then bring them, love, I ask no more 
Than those dear gems from thee. 





‘AND CANST THOU THINK. 


And canst thou think because we part 

*Till some brief months have flown, 

That absence e’er can change a heart 

Which years have made thine own? 
No, Lady, no. 


Thy fav’rite star that sparkling hies, 
To grace some other sphere, 
Will beam as bright in stranger skies, 
Though seen no longer here. 
Yes, Lady, yes. 


And when the bour again comes round, 
For that lov’d star’s return, 
Like this true heart ’twill then be found 
With flame as pure to burn. 
Yes, Lady, yes. 





MORNING AROUND US IS BEAMING. 


Morning around us is beaming, 
Starlight but faintly is gleaming; 
Wake! wake! with thy love 
To roam in the grove, 
Is dearer than all thou art dreaming. 


Ca- 
c. 
we) 


THE WESTERN SONGSTER, 


The wild bird from the brake, love, 
With me now bids thee wake, love ; 
How sweet its lay 
Now melts away 
In music o’er the lake, love: 


Roses through night dew are breaking, 
Ev’ry thing sweet is awaking ; ; 
For even the flowers 
That love the night’s hours, 
A peep at the morning are taking. 
Then why art thou away, love, 
From this sweet hour of day, love ? 
Its dewy light, 
Tho’ fair and bright, 
Yet wants thy beauty’s ray, love. 





THE LITTLE COCK SPARROW. 


A little cock sparrow sat up in a tree, 

And whistled, and whistled, and thus whistled he— 
A little boy came with his bow and arrow, 

Said he, I will shoot this little cock sparrow. 


The little cock sparrow kept hopping about ; ’ 
Said the boy, I shall hit you, I hav’nt a doubt; 
So he strung up his bow and feather’d his arrow, 
And then took a look at the little cock sparrow. 


The little boy said as he stood in the dew, 

This little cock sparrow will make me a stew, 

And his giblets will make me a little pie too— 
Said the little cock sparrow, Pll be shot if they do. 





OH! CEASE TO UPBRAID. 


Oh! cease to upbraid, while I seek to entwine 
Fresh chaplets of roses with those thou hast wove ; 
Other smiles may dispel the remembrance of thine, 
And the chalice of life be sweeten’d by love. 


THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 3038 


When mem’ry recurs to the volume of life, 
One page dress’d with smiles ’midst the rest I shall 
SCE; 
For on it are trac’d the moments of joy 
1 have pass’d, my Louisa, so sweetly with thee. 
Then cease to upbraid, while I seek to entwine, 
Fresh chaplets of roses with those thou hast wove; 
Other smiles may dispel the remembrance of thine, 
And the chalice of life be sweeten’d by love. 


Tho’ winter has torn the gay bow’rs of joy, 
Where happy and bless’d for a season were we ; 
And tho’ sorrow may shade, she cannot destroy 
The remembrance of scenes that were hallow’d by 
thee. 
But if there’s one thorn that I did not disarm | 
*Midst the roses of pleasure I’ve strew’d in thy way, 
With a sorrowing tear the wound [’ll embalm, 
And wash every pang it inflicted away. 
Then cease, &c. 


PLL LOVE THEE AS THE WILD BEE LOVES. 
lll love thee as the wild bee loves 

The blossom’d sweets o’er which he roves, 
Amid the fields and blooming groves ; 

Such beauty dwells in thee, my love. 

The sunbeam after gentle show’rs 

Is not more lov’d by drooping flow’rs, 

Within their noontide shady bow’rs, 

Than thou art lov’d by me, my love, 


The song of birds at close of day, 

The whisp’ring sounds of streamlet’s play, 
. Is nought compared to thee, my love; 

The gentle music that we hear 

In dreaming sleep so safe and clear, 

Is not more lov’d by mem’ry’s ear, 

Than thou art lov’d by me, my love. 


SGA THE WESTERN SONGSTER.} 


MARSEILLES HYMN OF LIBERTY. 
Ye sons of Freedom, wake to glory! 
Hark! hark! what myriads bid you rise! 
Your Children, Wives, and Grandsires hoary, . 
Behold their tears and hear their cries. 

. Shall hateful tyrants, mischiefs breeding. 
With hireling hosts, a ruffian band, 
Affright and desolate the land, 

While peace and liberty lie bleeding, 
To arms! to arms! ye brave; 
Th’ avenging sword unsheath : 
March on, march on, all hearts resolv’d, 
On victory or death. 


Now, now, the dangerous storm is rolling, 
Which treacherous kings confederate raise ; 
The dogs of war, let loose, are howling, 
And lo! our fields and cities blaze. 
And shal] we basely view the ruin, 
While lawless force with guilty stride, 
Spreads desolation far and wide; 
With crimes and blood his hands embruing ? 
To arms! to arms! ye brave, &c. 


With luxury and pride surrounded, 
The vile insatiate despots dare, 
Their thirst of power and gold unbounded, 
To mete and vend the light and air. 
Like beasts of burden would they load us, 
Like gods would bid their slaves adore, 
But man is man, and who is more? 
Then shall they longer lash and goad us? : 
To arms! to arms! ye brave, &c. 


Oh, Liberty, can man resign thee, 

Once having felt thy generous flame ? 
Can dungeons, bolts, and bars confine thee ? 
Or whips thy noble spirit tame ? 

Too long the world has wept, bewailing 
That falsehood’s dagger tyrants wield ; 
But freedom is our sword and shield, 

And all their arts are unavailing. 

To arms! to arms! ye brave, &c. 





THE WESTERN SONGSTER. ' $05 


TOASTS AND SENTIMENTS. 


All fortune’s daughters but the eldest. 

All we wish, and alkwe want. 

Ability to serve a friend, and honour to conceal it. 

Absalom’s end to the fomenters of public mischief. 

Constancy in love, and sincerity in friendship. 

Friendship without interest, and love without deceit. 

Great men honest, and honest men great. 

Honour and influence to the public spirited patrons of 
trade. 

Happy to meet, happy to part, and happy to meet again. 

Health of body, peace of mind, and a guinea. 

Independency, and a genteel sufficiency. 

Life, love, and liberty. 

Love to one, friendship to a few, good will to all. 

Literature, like liberty, may it be cherished by every 
American. 

Love without fear, and life without care. 

Long life to him that has eourage to lose it. . 

May the single be married, and the married be happy. 

May we kiss whom we please, and please whom we kiss. 

May the honest heart never know distress. 

May we never know sorrow but by name. ¥ 

May we always be able to resist the assaults of prosperity 
and adversity. 

May temptation never conquer virtue. 

May the evening’s diversion bear the morning’s reflection. 

May we always have a friend, and know his value. 

May those who love truly be always believed. 

May we never want a friend, and a bottle to give him. © ' 

May we have in our arms what we love in our hearts. © 

Merit to gain a heart, and sense to keep it. 

Money to him that has spirit to use it. 

More friends and less need of them. 

May those who'd deceive us, be always deceived. 

May the sword of justice be swayed by the hand of mercy. 

May the brow of the brave never want a wreath of laurel. 

May we be slaves to nothing but our duty, and friends to 
nothing but real merit. . 

May he that turns his back on his friend, fall into the 
hapds of his enemies. 


306 THE WESTERN SONGSTER. 


May honour be the commander when love takes the field. 

May reason guide the helm, when passion blows the gale. 

May those who would enslave, become slaves themselves. 

May genius and merit never want a friend. 

May the road of happiness be lighted by virtue. 

May life last as loug as it is worth wearing. 

May we never murmur without a cause, and never have 
a cause to murmur. tia. 

May fortune fill the lap where charity guides the hand. 

May the eye that drops for the misfortunes of others, 
never shed a tear for its own. 

May the lovers of the fair sex never want means to sup- 
port, and spirit to defend them. 

May the tear of misery be dried by the hand of commise- 
ration. 

May the voyage of life end in the haven of happiness. 

May the example of the new world regenerate the old. 

May we always be happy, and our enemies know it. 

Provision to the unprovided. 

Peace and honest friendship with all nations ; entangling 
alliances with none. 

Riches to the generous, and power to the merciful. 

Short shoes and long corns to the enemies of freedom. 

Success to the lover, and joy to the beloved. 

Sincerity in friendship, and constancy in love. 

The life we love, with whom we love. 

The friend we love, and the woman we dare trust. 

The union of two fond hearts. — 

The lovers of honour, and honourable lovers. 

The unity of hearts in the union of hands. 

The love of liberty, and liberty in love. 

The liberty of the press without licentiousness. 

The virtuous fair, and the fair virtuous. 

The road to honour through the plains of virtue. 

The hero of Saratoga—may his memory animate the 
breast of every American. 

The American's triumvirate, love, wine, and liberty. 

‘The memory of WasuineTon. 

Wit without virulence, wine without excess, and wisdom { 
without affectation. . 


_ What charms, arms, and disarms. 


“Your love for mine, and ours for that of the company. 




















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